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Book 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



TARRY WITH ME 
AND OTHER 

VERSES 



TARRY WITH ME 


AND OTHER 


VERSES 


BY 


CAROLINE SPRAGUE SMITH 


NEW YORK 


PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR 


AT THE CHELTENHAM PRESS 


MCMIX 






COPYRIGHT, 1909 
BY CAROLINE SPRAGUE SMITH 



!CI.A'<f5!5?o 



TO MY SONS 

THE COMPANIONS AND SOLACE 

OF MY OLD AGE, I DEDICATE THESE 

MEMORIES OF BYGONE DAYS 



FOREWORD 

THESE simple verses have been 
collected by the writer as pen 
pictures of passing events during many 
years, and the thoughts naturally flow- 
ing from them. "Tarry With Me" **/ 
Go a-Fishing," "The Cup," and "The 
Passover " were suggested by sermons. 



CONTENTS 



Suggested by the Death of John Ouincy 

Adams .... 
Forefathers' Day . 
The Grave of the Naturalist 
To My Sister On Her Birthday 
To Carrie McKeever On Her Eighth Birthday 
"Little AUie" 
The Organ Concert 
A Fragment . 
Dedication of an Album 
For H. C.'s Album 
In Memoriam 
In Memory of my Father 
Childhood's Home 
In Memory of Deacon Newman of Andover 

Mass 

Tarry With Me — the Old Man's Prayer 
The Pastor's Visit to His Former People 

Mattapoisett 

In Memoriam 

To Mary T. After the Death of Her Sister 
Anniversary of Abbott Academy, Andover 
The Last Words of Dr. Samuel C. Taylor 
To Edw^in 



10 

13 
15 

17 
20 

23 
25 

27 
28 
30 
32 

35 

38 

40 

43 

48 

49 
51 
53 
55 



CONTENTS 



In Memoriam— Mrs. L. B 

An Incident of the Centennial of Andover 

Phillips Academy 

Four Days at the Lakeside 

"Du Bachlein, Silberhell Und Klar," Goethe 

Ein Psalmlied 

Seasick 

Cologne for the South End 

During a Time of Drought 

The Spring Blossom 

The White Rosebud 

To My Mother . 

The Still-Born 

Herrnhut 

The Prayer-Meeting, Where Was It 

"Jerusalem the Golden" . 

"The Giant Cities of Bashan" 

Suggested by Stevenson's "Aes Triplex" 

The Saviour . 

The God-Man . 

The Lord's Pavilion 

To Mrs. C, Teacher of the Portuguese Child 

ren's Sew^ing School 
John Jones . 
The Long Sands . 

In Memory of Misses Warfield and Norcr 
The Cry From Osaka 
Home Missionary Hymn 
Missionary Hymn 
The Lord's Prayer 
My Home— Where Is It ? 



57 

60 

63 
66 

67 
68 

70 

n 
77 
80 
82 
85 
87 
89 
93 
95 
98 
99 

lOI 

104 

106 
109 

112 
114 
116 
118 
120 
122 
125 



CONTENTS 








PAGE 


Bright Western Star 127 


In Memoriam 












129 


The Fugitive 












132 


Passmore Williamson 












134 


Charles Sumner . 












136 


Welcome Home . 












139 


William Conway . 












141 


The Irish Battalion 












143 


Our Fallen 












145 


Charleston 












147 


Andersonville 












149 


Fredericksburg 












153 


"IGo A-Fishing" 












158 


An Extract from the 


Foi 


irth 


Act 


of ' 


'Peer 



Gynt" 160 

"How the Other Half Live," by Jacob Riis 165 
The Christmas Basket at Madison Square 



Garden 


167 


Lex Talionis 


168 


To Her Majesty — The Queen Wilhelmina 


171 


"Let No One Harm Him" 


174 


Vassili Verestschagin 


176 


The Appeal to the Czar .... 


177 


An Echo 


178 


The Cup 


180 


The Passover or the Perpetual Feast 


182 


Faith, Hope, Charity 


185 


The Loved of Yore 


186 



TARRY WITH ME 

AND OTHER 

VERSES 



SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF 
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS 

A SOUND of wailing sweeps along the wires, 
To north and south the tidings quick are 
sped, 
Sad tidings from the assembly of our sires, 
The country called to weep its patriot dead. 



Deep sighs are borne upon the passing breeze 
And sorrow glistens in each melting eye, 

While sudden fears the patriot's heart-strings seize 
Who doubting asketh, "Wherefore must he die ? " 



Full well, Columbia, may thy tear-drops flow. 
For he who yearned o'er thee with tender love, 

He whose bright smile erst hushed thy voice of woe, 
Rising from earth, has found his home above. 



But let no wavering doubt distract thy breast, 
Be thankful for this gracious gift from God; 

With faith like his lull every fear to rest. 

And humbly bow beneath the chastening rod. 



TARRY WITH ME 



His was the noble plan, the wide desire, 
With purpose firm no obstacle could shock, 

When country, duty did his soul inspire, 
Firm and unyielding as his native rock. 



Those dauntless words, the glory of our land, 
That spoke our young republic into birth. 

And, traced beneath, that dear, familiar hand 
Greeted his eyes just opening on the earth. 



His youthful spirit caught the kindling spark, 
Bright glowed his breast with dreams of liberty; 

For him nor storm nor tempest could be dark, 
Hope ever whispering, "You shall yet be free." 



True to his country in her direst need. 

He drooped not 'neath the withering breath of 
scorn; 
No raging surges could his bark impede. 

Though well-nigh wrecked, and tossed, and tem- 
pest-torn. 



What room for doubt when through the clouds 
bright-beamed 

A star to guide him on his arduous way? 
Though all around with death and ruin teemed. 

That star gave promise of a brighter day. 



AND OTHER VERSES 

His compass never has been known to fail, 
Though others often devious may prove, 

But 'neath the sun's broad glare or moonbeam pale 
It ever pointed to the God of Love. 



Oft would his waking eyes prevent the day, 
Like the sweet harper of God's ancient flock, 

While musing o'er the page time sped away 
And morn unconscious on his vigils broke. 



When party strife the Halls of Congress stirred 
And fierce debate and burning words were 
blent. 

With pointed finger as he marked God's word 
All paused to hear the "old man eloquent." 



Though first to parry the oppressor's stroke 
And force all wrong and tyranny to cease. 

He meekly bent him to the Master's yoke, 

Listed as soldier 'neath the "Prince of Peace." 



His eye of pity ne'er forgot to mark 

The captive's grief and bid his tears be dry; 

To quench aggressive war's enkindling spark, 
His fearless voice was ever lifted hi^h. 



TARRY WITH ME 



Though bred in courts, no hollow courtier he. 
Sincere and cordial, artless as a child, 

Against the tyrant like a foaming sea, 

In friendship as the summer streamlet mild. 



Of woman's love he owned the winning power. 
And little children sought to grasp his hand. 

Round every hearth, in bright or darkest hour, 
A welcome guest amid the household band. 



We weep for him, for dark'ning tempests lower 
And earthquakes threaten to engulf our land; 

We weep for him, for his the noble power 
Strong and unwav'ring 'midst the storm to 
stand. 



Yet weep we not for him, our tears are shed 
That he no more may greet our longing eyes, 

He rests not in yon low and narrow bed, 
On wings of faith he mounted to the skies. 



Through fourscore years he kept his armor on. 
Burnished and bright, all ready for the strife, 

No weight of age forced him to lay it down, 
Death overtook him in the glow of life. 

6 



AND OTHER VERSES 



It came and found him ever at his post 
Ready his Maker's summons to obey, 

Ready to mingle with the heavenly host, 
Ready to soar to realms of endless day. 



Glory had filled his chalice to the brim. 
And to the paling brow her halo lent, 

Yet breathed he, soft as seraph's echoed hymn, 
"This is the Last of Earth — I am content." 



Thine own birthday, Columbia, to the sire 

'Neath weeping skies had set the earthly span, 

And now the son's bright mission doth expire 
Just as thy father's glorious race began. 
February 22, 1848. 



TARRY WITH ME 



FOREFATHERS' DAY 

FOR many a wintry day 
Has the Mayflower toiled o'er the sea, 
And storms and driving sleet have tried 
Her stout-hearted company. 



But the land is just in sight 

And the wearisome voyage o'er, 
Then quick! spread the sail to the favoring breeze 

And haste to the long-sought shore! 



Yet stay! for the glowing west proclaims 

Our week of labor done: 
Then moor we our boat at this little isle 

Ere the setting of the sun! 



Let no splash from the dripping oar 
Break the hush of the Sabbath day! 

In our hearts let no earth-born emotion stir 
While we seek to praise and pray! 



^ 



AND OTHER VERSES 

So they moored their boat, those faithful men, 

To hallow the day of rest, 
And praised the Lord of the wind and wave 

Who had sheltered them on His breast. 



Full many a storm has swept o'er the isle 
Since by Pilgrim feet 'twas trod. 

And years of Sabbaths have passed away 
Since they paused to worship God. 



Cities have sprung up all over the land, 

And from every hillock and dell 
Comes with the breath of each Sabbath morn 

The peal of the church-going bell. 



TARRY WITH ME 



THE GRAVE OF THE NATURALIST 

IN the dark, lonely deep 
He found a peaceful grave, 
A calm and dreamless sleep 
Beneath the booming wave. 



Not eve's pale, twilight rays 
Faint glimm'ring in the west, 

But life's high, noontide blaze 
Wooed him to balmy rest. 



The sea with deep-hued leaves 
His regal couch has spread, 

Of crimson moss it weaves 
A chaplet for his head. 



Where sang the joyous bird 
With requiems low and wild 

The forest leaves are stirred 
For Nature's darling child. 

10 



AND OTHER VERSES 

The lily of the vale 

Bends low its drooping head, 
Fair roses, parched and pale, 

Their quiv'ring petals shed. 



Bright, pearly drops suffuse 
The violet's blue eye, 

As when the gentle dews 
Weep from an evening sky. 



On the pale mountain's brow 
No more his eye may rest, 

(Cold as that mountain now 
His warm and glowing breast,) 



Nor from the ice-clad hill 
Descending many a mile 

By the mad, dashing rill 

Watch the "Great Spirit's smile. 



Wand'ring with halting step 

Through woods and tangled brake. 
No more his pencil trace 

The "Genius of the Lake." 

II 



TARRY WITH ME 

Gay voyagers of the air. 
Fly quickly to your home, 

Fly, lest the fowler's snare 
Await you where you roam! 



Go join the mourning band 
Upon each woodland tree, 

Go weep the pitying hand 
That loved to set you free. 



12 



AND OTHER VERSES 



TO MY SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY 

AND can it be that girlhood's years, 
^ Life's opening April tide 
Of sunny smiles and dewy tears 
Are scattered far and wide? 



Yes! we have roamed through childhood's 
bowers, 

Have felt the early rain. 
Have culled the morning's fairest flowers 

And may not cull again. 



Yet say not that our happiest days 
On rapid wings have sped, 

That Joy has lost her meteor blaze, 
And Hope lies cold and dead. 



For brighter is the noontide far 
Than the first dawn of day, 

And richer than the morning star 
The sun's full, golden ray. 

1.3 



TARRY WITH ME 

The insect bends his tiny Hps 
Each honeyed rose to kiss, 

And as the nectared dew he sips 
Drinks in his cup of bUss. 



But at an insect's Httle hour 
We look with pitying eye, 

And for a world within a flower, 
Ah! who would vainly sigh? 



And shall we seek again for blind 

And thoughtless gayety, 
Or forge fresh fetters for the mind 

Just struggling to be free? 



Nay, firm in courage, will we greet 
These riper hopes and fears, 

And, clasping hands, go forth to meet 
Th' enigma of the years. 



H 



AND OTHER VERSES 



TO CARRIE McKEEVER ON HER EIGHTH 
BIRTHDAY 

CARRIE McKEEVER, thou gay little rover, 
Cloudless and bright is thy life's opening 
day, 
Nimble thy bound o'er the sweet, springing clover, 
Scattered with flowers thy glad, sunny way. 



Joyously sparkle thy roguish blue peepers. 
Merry the peal of thine innocent glee. 

Blithe are thy notes as the song of the reapers 
Caroled at eve 'neath the cool, sunset tree. 



Haply some sad one may seek to assure thee 
Earth is a dark, dreary valley of tears, 

Crushing the hopes which so fondly allure thee. 
Clouding thy brow with dim, shadowy fears. 



True, on the swift-flying wings of the hours 
Day's richest glories at even will fade; 

Summer, to wreathe her bright garland of flowers, 
Waits for an April of sunshine and shade. 

15 



TARRY WITH ME 

So the wide view stretching proudly before thee 
Soon may be shrouded in desert-hke gloom, 

Wild, howling winds may sweep fearfully o'er 
thee, 
Earth's fairest flowers may lose their perfume. 



Yet if thy heart in its hours of gladness 

Freely has tasted Love's full, gushing spring, 

Fled from thy path is each deep shade of sadness, 
Pierced and dispelled by the sunshine within. 



Thine be that faith which in Heaven reposes. 
Thine the full joy that no sorrow may quell, 

Bidding the wilderness blossom with roses. 
Making the valley of Baca a well. 



Carrie McKeever, thou gay little rover, 

Cloudless and bright is thy life's opening day, 

So when on earth all thy rambles are over, 
Cloudless and bright be thy spirit's glad way! 
184.8. 



16 



AND OTHER VERSES 



"LITTLE ALLIE" 

FAIR and round was little AUie, 
Our dear child of summers three, 
And her bright eyes shone like diamonds 

As she clambered to my knee, 
While she put the eager question, 
"Tell me, ma, when spring will be." 



"When you wake to-morrow, Allie, 
From your slumbers, blithe and free, 

Spring will have waked up before you." 
"Then," cried Allie joyfully, 

"Come to-morrow! come to-morrow! 
Oh! how happy I shall be!" 



"What, my darling, are you weary 
Of the sleigh-bells and the snow? 

Is it for the birds and sunshine 
That you love the springtime so? 

Do you long to gather violets?" 
Allie shook her head, "Oh, no!" 



TARRY WITH ME 

"But your promise, mother dearest, 

Surely you have not forgot, 
That to church I may go with you 

When the warm spring days come back, 
So to-morrow, so to-morrow 

I may go, oh ! may I not ? " 



"There the minister speaks to them 
Of God's love and tender care. 

There they sing sweet praises to Him, 
There they lift the voice in prayer. 

So I'll go with you to-morrow 
To the church, for God is there." 



"Not to-morrow, little Allie, 

You must wait till Sunday, dear." 

But my words seemed all unheeded. 
For she shook her golden hair. 

And kept singing, "Oh! to-morrow 
I shall go, for God is there." 



Morning came and woke the sunbeams 
And they danced o'er hill and lea, 

Sparkled in the tiny dewdrops, 
And the brook ran merrily 

O'er its pebbly pathway, singing, 
"All the earth is full of glee." 



AND OTHER VERSES 

But all night our little Allie 

Moaning lay upon her bed, 
Parched her lips with burning fever, 

Sharp pains darting through her head; 
Morning came to wake the sunbeams, 

But the brightest beam had fled. 



So with many tears we laid her 
On the morrow 'neath the sod, 

But our grief with joy was blended. 
For we knew she was with God. 

Happy Allie! happy Allie! 

She had gone to dwell with God! 



Gone before the Sabbath's dawning 
To God's holier church above, 

Where she may forever praise Him, 
May forever taste His love; 

Happy Allie! happy Allie! 
Gone to worship God above! 



So while on her little coffin 
The cold earth fell heavily, 

To our hearts with dove-like cadence 
Stole this soothing melody: 

"On the morrow, on the morrow, 
Oh! how happy I shall be!" 

19 



TARRY WITH ME 



THE ORGAN CONCERT 

WILLIS CLARKE SHELTON 

WE gathered in the church at eventide 
To wait the entrance of a youthful form 
Full and erect, but slight, upon whose brow 
Rare genius and high thought had set their seal, 
And, as his skilful fingers stirred the keys 
Of the great organ, every breath was hushed. 
Each ear attentive, while the pulse beat quick 
With strong emotion, vivid sympathy. 
Responsive to the master-soul that laid 
Its hand upon the heart-strings when it touched 
The throbbing instrument. 

The organ ceased: 
A gentle rhythmic cadence, like the tide 
Breaking in whispers on the sheltered shore 
When the great deep lies quiet 'neath the moon, 
Rose from the singer's lips, and all was calm. 



The song was o'er: the organ breathed again 

In Batiste's "First Communion," where the soul. 

In the soft ecstasy of joy and love 

Of its betrothal hour, finds perfect peace, 

20 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Happy in loving and in being loved, 

The human will at one with the divine. 

What though, in tone subdued, deep solemn peals 

From the eternities the conscience thrill, 

They cannot mar the harmony of heaven 

Filling the heart to overflow of bliss. 



But how portray the wonder-working power 
Of genius, through the nimble hand and foot, 
Bidding the organ speak its varied mood! 
Now the rapt hearer one brief moment stands 
With John in prison by th' ^i^gean sea 
On rocky Patmos: to his startled ear 
The thunders utter forth their voice again : 
Anon the sky has cleared: a far-off choir 
Of angel voices melts in liquid strain, 
Which scarcely ceases when a homesick bird, 
With flutt'ring anguish, beats its prison bars. 
And breaks its heart-strings in one last, sweet 
song. 



As from a neighb'ring hill we bend to trace 
The wilful wand'rings of a summer brook. 
Now smiling in the open light of day. 
Now coyly hiding 'neath o'erhanging boughs. 
Yet peeping forth once more by pebbly shore, 
Or mossy bank, where gracefully the fern 
Keeps watch and ward, more welcome for its loss. 
And fairer for its winsome coquetry, 

21 



TARRY WITH ME 



So the familiar air, now lost, now found, 
Held on its charmed way, and many a flower 
Of tropic form and hue that grew beside 
Made the glad stream itself more beautiful. 



Yet foolish the essay to paint in words 

The soul's deep, struggling thought that stirs and 

throbs 
In music, and most vain by one who knows 
Not e'en its alphabet — but, blest the hour 
When to the longing hands a golden harp 
And skill to untaught fingers shall be given, 
While a new song shall fill the court of heaven 
Sung only by the sinning and redeemed! 



Praise God for genius! His own gift sent down 
To breathe within a human, fellow soul! 
Praise too that we its sacred joy may share! 
God keep it bright and pure as virgin flame 
Burning upon His altar, rising still 
And pointing upward to its source divine! 



22 



AND OTHER VERSES 



A FRAGMENT 

THE merry sport was over, and with breath 
Well-nigh exhausted Ellen fondly sought 
A resting-place upon her father's knee; 
She closely pressed her glowing cheek and brow, 
Dampened with exercise, against his own, 
While her soft arm caressingly entwined 
Around his neck, and the dark, flowing curls 
Nestling upon his shoulder, with their mute. 
Yet eloquent, pleading language, seemed to tell 
The secret depths of childhood's trusting love. 



His eye beamed fondly on her as she watched 
The changing twilight with its mingled tints 
Of rose and azure, melting soon into 
The deeper violet. Lo! a richer flood 
O'erspreading now the west, each fleecy cloud 
Tinging with gold, and, 'neath its lower edge, 
Tracing a line of light, as envious 
Of every milder tint that might perchance 
Sully the glory of the setting day! 

23 



TARRY WITH ME 



But soon the lustre dims and sombre eve 
Draws close her curtains, when the kindly night 
With gentle footstep comes to bid us hail, 
And lights for us her thousand beaming orbs. 



Just as the gold was fading a low strain 
Of melody came wafted on the breeze, 
So faint it was that one might scarcely say 
Whence it had issued, from yon lowly cot 
Or from the forest path — whether it rose 
Half-consciously to lips from the full heart 
Of some lone wand'rer through the woody glade, 
Or if some well-taught fingers tremulously 
Had touched the harp-strings or the soft guitar; 
Perchance the breath of j$)o1us on his lute 
Sighed forth a requiem for the dying day; 
But whence it came, or how, it booted not 
To the rapt list'ning ear of him who now 
Was heedless of the soft and loving kiss 
Imprinted on his forehead, and the eyes 
Swimming with tears that vainly sought to read 
The reason for his fixed and sudden gaze. 
And why he strove to hush his lab'ring breath. 



24 



AND OTHER VERSES 



DEDICATION OF AN ALBUM 

BRIGHTLY in life's rosy morning 
Beam affection's smiles, 
And, our footsteps gently guiding. 
Love each care besuiles. 



Soon, too soon the dear ones vanish 

From our sight away; 
Haste then, gather here some tokens 

That may not decay. 



Some high thoughts of hope or duty 

That may give thee cheer 
Should bereavement cloud thy pathway, 

Fill thy heart with fear. 



Some fond word or aspiration 
That may still have breath, 

Though the hand have lost its motion. 
Voice be hushed in death. 

25 



TARRY WITH ME 

For the friends who weave this garland 
Breathe we now our prayer, 

When the Book of Life is opened 
May each name be there! 



26 



AND OTHER VERSES 



FOR H. C.'S ALBUM 

HATTIE, thy heart so full of love 
Paints life all glad and bright, 
A bow of promise ever spans 

The future to thy sight; 
Yet, if thou linger here for many years, 
Thou'lt find earth's fairest flowers bedewed, be- 
dewed with tears. 



Wait not, dear Hattie, till thy life 

Has lost its golden glory, 
Till in the retrospect it seems 

But as an oft-told story. 
Till like a wayworn pilgrim thou shalt say, 
"Oh, earth! thou'rt not my home, let me away! 
away ! 



Nay! 'twere but mockery to turn 

Heav'nward the dying gaze 
When earth had all the flush of youth. 

The strength of happier days; 
But, Hattie, while the sky bends bright o'er thee, 
Give thy young heart to Him Who gave His life 
for thee. 



27 



TARRY WITH ME 



IN MEMORIAM 

M. O. N. 

THEY tell me thou hast left us, much loved 
friend, 
Teacher, companion of those early years 
When childhood's precious gift was mine, to read 
The inmost heart, and know hypocrisy 
By intuition. — Happy child to have 
So large a heart for daily sympathy, 
For earth holds all too few so free from self. 
Thrice happy, too, led by thy guiding hand 
Up the first steps of Learning's rugged way; 
It seemed not rugged then, nor since, so well 
Thy watchful eye had marked the first steps taken 
That all the after path became as 'twere 
A "royal road," and strown with bright-hued 
flowers. 



Full well can I recall the dreaded task, 
A theme assigned to me one day at school ; 
I pouting sat, and more by look than word 
Betrayed impatience. What was thy reproof, 

28 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Thine, ever watchful for my highest good, 
Chiefly intent upon the hidden spring 
That lay beneath the action ? With a calm 
And quiet voice you called me to your desk; 
Was it to bear the ferule's dreaded blow, 
Or worse, a chilling frown to freeze my heart? 
No word was spoken, but the pencil's point 
Marked out these lines traced by your loving 

hand, 
''Dear Carrie, think you, is your conduct such 
That it will please your Heav'nly Father well ? " 
Bitter, but sweet, those words missed not their 

aim. 
And never has the heart they pierced forgot 
To cherish them in grateful memory. 



But years have passed, and I, the little child. 
Am now the guide of others, yet turn back 
Each year to think more fondly of the one 
To me so faithful, thorough, patient, kind. 



29 



TARRY WITH ME 



IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER 

WHO DIED FEBRUARY 22, 1852 

MY father, four and thirty years have passed 
Since thou hast left us, yet our yearning 
hearts 
Turn back to thee, the father, brother, guide 
And close companion through our early days, 
With love that death and silence cannot quench. 
How rare thy nature, in whose gen'rous soil 
No selfish aim might strike its baneful root! 
With kindly deeds thy daily life o'erflowed, 
The sick and sorrowing turned in trust to thee, 
In thee the pris'ner found a constant friend. 
Thy ample board the stranger sacred held. 
And greeting gave God's "angels unawares." 



And we, thy children, can we e'er forget 
The thousand tokens of thy thoughtful love.'' 
Before the wish had time to shape itself 
The zealous hand so ready to bestow? 
All wet with morning dew, the half-blown rose 
Upon our pillow laid, while stealthy steps 
Retreated quickly from our waking gaze ? 

30 



AND OTHER VERSES 

The circle gathered in the mother's room 
Plying the needle, while from open page 
Thy willing voice our wakened fancy bore 
O'er Katrine's lake with Ellen and Fitz James, 
Or, led by "gentle hermit of the dale," 
Together we "the long-lost Edwin" found? 
And so the busy hours were filled with joy, 
And tasks were lightened, while the house-band 

drew 
Our heart-strings closer by the silken cords 
Of mutual cheer and genial sympathy. 



Thou once didst say, "My children please me 

best 
When best they please themselves," for stern 

decree 
Could scarce find utterance through lips like 

thine. 



How oft, returning from a lengthened drive. 
The chaise a laurel arbor, to our eyes 
Brought woodland visions of delight, while rare 
And sweetest perfume from magnolias breathed 
A subtle charm through every soul, and filled 
The home with fragrance — so, in looking back. 
The home seems filled again, and, like the vase, 
In all its fragments holds the sweetness still. 

February, 1886. 

31 



TARRY WITH ME 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME 

TO MY PASTOR AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER 

OH ! dear was the home of my life's rosy 
morning 
Where I rambled and prattled in innocent glee, 
Where I caught the first ray of the sun in his 
dawning, 
And sang with the lark in notes blithesome and 
free ! 



Now decking with garlands the pets of my child- 
hood, 
Now breathlessly stirring, with light, cautious 
tread, 
As I startled the squirrel amid the green wild- 
wood, 
Like a dove on swift pinions the Summer days 
fled. 



And Winter's sharp frost found us gathering 
nightly 
Round the warm, ample hearth, a glad, un- 
broken band, 

32 



AND OTHER VERSES 

What heed we the storm! our fire burns brightly! 
Who so happy as we through the wide-stretch- 
ing land! 



There a mother's eye ever with soft, love-lent 
beauty 

Beamed out o'er our pathway, like night's guid- 
ing star; 

There a father first taught the stern lessons of 
duty, 
And charmed us with stories of regions afar. 



But quenched is the fire that erst burned so 
brightly, 
The cold ashes swept from the ample hearth- 
stone. 
Wide scattered the band that once gathered 
nightlv, 
And silent the mansion, deserted and lone. 



Round the tightly-barred threshold the deep snows 
are drifting, 
In the dark forest path, o'er the Autumn leaf's 
bed, 
While night's howling wind, the dry tree-tops up- 
lifting. 
With low-whispered requiem seems chanting the 
dead. 

33 



TARRY WITH ME 

The brook chafes and murmurs, impatient to 
linger, 
But the ice-king has fettered its free-flowing 
stream; 
Like the full, gushing heart, locked by scorn's 
chilling finger. 
Yet struggling to win back young life's golden 
dream. 



But why is the dwelling thus desert and lonely? 

Why lower above it the thick clouds of gloom ? 
And where are they gone whose loving hearts only 

Lent this garden of youth all its fragrance and 
bloom ? 



Has Fortune, once fond, but now coldly reviling. 
Condemned them with dull, drooping eyelids to 
roam ? 

Or Fancy, with gay phantom visions beguiling. 
E'en ventured to picture a happier home? 

Oh, yes! for a happier home have they started. 
But not where Earth beckons with fair, fitful 
brow, 
A home where those gather whom long years 
have parted, 
Heaven's portals have opened to welcome them 
now. 

1849. 

34 



AND OTHER VERSES 



IN MEMORY OF DEACON NEWMAN- OF 
ANDOVER, MASS. 

CALL it not Death, so quietly and gently, 
Like setting day, 
Slow lingering through the summer's golden 
gloaming. 
He passed away. 



Oft had he met a group of merry prattlers 

Round his hearthstone, 
But they were now a band of white-robed harpers 

Before the throne. 



One in the freshness of her first espousals, 

In life's glad spring, 
Had soared to meet th' embrace of Him who 
loved her 

On eager wing. 



One, laying 'mid the halls of classic learning 

His laurels by. 
With heartsick yearning for a father's blessing, 

Came home to die. 

35 



TARRY WITH ME 

To win back erring souls unto the sheepfold 

One strove in love, 
A loving Shepherd bade Him enter early 

His fold above. 

And others yet had left the old man's fireside 

Bereft and lone, 
Each hearing from the Father's "many mansions" 

A welcome home. , 



One strong staff yet remained, one dear son 
bearing 

His father's name, 
He less by wealth of purse than by heart-riches 

Had won fair fame. 

Lovingly, proudly leaned the trusting old man 

His feeble frame 
On this strong staff of beauty, but beneath him 

It snapped in twain. 

And did he stumble.^ Nay! for in his weakness 

The Son of God 
Held out to him in tender loving-kindness 

His staff and rod. 

No more of leaning on the earthly dear ones, 

Why should he fear? 
E'en they might go, nor leave the old man lonely, 

For Christ was near. 

36 



AND OTHER VERSES 

What though his tottering feet refused to enter 

The house of prayer, 
We needed not his presence to assure us 

His heart was there. 

He walked with God — with Him held sweet 
communion 

As friend with friend: 
Patient on the dark river's brink to tarry, 

Glad to descend. 

The Shepherd led him through the shadowy val- 
ley, 
And light so full 
Beamed on his pathway that we wondered, cry- 
ing 
"How beautiful!" 

How beautiful when, Christ's own image bearing, 

This mouldering clay, 
Roused by His voice, from death's long sleep 
shall waken 

To endless day! 

When the dear household band at last are gath- 
ered, 

Their number full, 
When the old man shall glow in youth eternal, 

How beautiful! 

1859. 

37 



TARRY WITH ME 



TARRY WITH ME 

THE OLD man's PRAYER 

Suggested by a Sermon by Rev. Henry M. 
Dexter from Luke xxiv, 29 : " Abide with us, 
for it is toward evening, and the day is far 
spent." Each verse follows one of the divi- 
sions of the sermon. 

TARRY with me, oh! my Saviour! 
For the day is passing by, 
See, the shades of evening gather 
And the night is drawing nigh, 
Tarry with me! tarry with me! 
Pass me not unheeded by! 



Many friends were gathered round me 
In the bright days of the past, 

But the grave has closed above them. 
And I Hnger here the last: 
I am lonely, tarry with me 
Till this dreary night is past! 



Dimmed to me is earthly beauty. 
Yet the spirit's eye would fain 

Rest upon Thy lovely features, 
Shall I seek, dear Lord, in vain? 

38 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Tarry with me, oh! my Saviour! 
Let me see Thy smile again ! 

Dull my ear to earth-born music, 

Speak Thou, Lord, in words of cheer! 

Feeble, tottering my footstep. 

Sinks my heart with sudden fear; 

Cast Thine arms, dear Lord, around me, 

Let me feel Thy presence near! 

Faithful Mem'ry paints before me 
Ev'ry deed and thought of sin; 

Open Thou the blood-filled fountain! 
Cleanse my guilty soul within ! 
Tarry, Thou forgiving Saviour, 
Wash me wholly from my sin! 

Deeper, deeper grow the shadows. 

Paler now the glowing west. 
Swift the night of Death advances. 

Shall it be a night of rest ? 

Tarry with me, oh! my Saviour! 

Lay my head upon Thy breast! 

Feeble, trembling, fainting, dying, 
Lord, I cast myself on Thee; 

Tarry with me through the darkness. 
While I sleep still watch by me 
Till the morning, then awake me, 
Dearest Lord, to dwell with Thee. 

Salem, 1852. 

39 



TARRY WITH ME 



THE PASTOR'S VISIT TO HIS FORMER 
PEOPLE 

THE frost of threescore winters 
Has touched his silvery hair, 
But the pastor's eye glows brightly 

As again he standeth where 
In his days of youthful vigor 

He proclaimed the sacred Word, 
With the Spirit bearing witness. 
Many turning to the Lord. 



More beauteous now the temple 
Than the one of former days, 

And the solemn, pealing organ 
Sends forth its psalm of praise. 



He reads, "The grass must wither, 

The flower will fade away, 
But the Word abides forever — " 

God's promise is for aye! 
With earnest lips heart-laden 

He tells God's faithful love ; 
The glowing words betoken 

An unction from above. 

40 



AND OTHER VERSES 

He speaks of Christ, so precious, 

Bidding the saint rejoice: 
The well-remembered accents 

Fall "like a mother's voice," 
Thrilling the silent heart-strings, 

Calling departed years 
Back to fresh life and beauty 

With all their hopes and fears. 



Those upturned youthful faces 

He scanneth o'er and o'er. 
Seeking to find a likeness 

To the ones he knew of yore, 
He gladly greets the children, 

But "the fathers — where are they?" 
And his aching heart keeps asking, 

"The fathers — where are they?" 



It is the hour of sunset; 

On the quiet burial hill 
The pastor seeks his people. 

And heart and voice are still 
As, one after another. 

Names "familiar as his own," 
Like friendly glances, greet him 

From the cold and silent stone; 
Yet his tears are part of gladness. 

And his wistful thoughts, I ween, 
Turn to the heavenly meeting 

With no veil of flesh between. 

41 



TARRY WITH ME 

From this sweet and blest communion 

Called by the evening bell, 
In the place of social worship, 

With the friends who knew him well. 
He recounts those days of blessing, 

Telling, with choking voice. 
Of his love and prayer unceasing 

For the people of his choice, 
His first and only people, 

How, on the shining shore. 
The ransomed flock are gathering 

Where they meet to part no more; 
And we almost seem to see them 

As, united hand in hand. 
They fain would bid him welcome 

To the brighter, better land. 

Andover, 1865. 



42 



AND OTHER VERSES 



MATTAPOISETT 

HAIL Mattapoisett, quiet "place of rest!" 
Here may the weary waves upon thy 
breast 
Forget the turmoil of the outer sea, 
And dimple to light ripples lovingly, 
Breaking in whispers on thy dreamy shore 
Where the tired Indian rested in the days of 
yore. 



The ebbing tide is low upon the sand, 
Rock-weed and green moss on the pebbly strand, 
Uncovered, droop beneath the light of day, 
Yet still the willing water finds a way, 
By stony barriers checked upon its track, 
To loiter till once more the welcome tide comes 
back. 



A meagre, unhoused kitten, left at large. 
Brushes with tiny paw the foamy marge, 
Hoping 'gainst hope some dainty bit to trap 
While the dull clam indulges in a nap, 
Then, disappointed, mews and runs away, 
Tries vainly to forget her hunger in her play. 

43 



TARRY WITH ME 

"Come, little kitty, clamber to my knee, 
Were my home nearer it should shelter thee." 
With supple grace, caressing neck and cheek, 
She purrs the gratitude she cannot speak. 
Then turns again her hunger-pain to kill. 
For love is sweet to kit, but clams are sweeter 
still. 



A little blue-eyed girl, whose flaxen hair 
In curly tangles floats upon the air, 
Basket in hand, with eager, searching eyes 
And tireless feet, hither and thither hies, 
Her seaside treasures running o'er and o'er. 
Each fluted scallop shell still adding to her store. 



Upon the rocks, seated at easy reach. 

Mother and aunt, with Whittier "On the Beach," 

From nature mirrored in poetic guise 

To nature's self turning with charmed eyes. 

Watching the "low-bent sails in tack and flaw," 

Marvel how skilfully the artist's hand can draw. 



Behind us "high and dry" upon the strand, 
Tenantless, windowless and doorless, stand 
The gray stone walls where erst the smithy's fire 
Beamed brightly as he shaped the glowing tire, 
His right arm dealing blows with lusty might. 
Or forged the bolts that made the good ship 
stanch and tight. 

44 



AND OTHER VERSES 

The wharves stretch idle arms out to the bay: 
Not many years since in their shelter lay 
Huge whale-ships, wafted from the northern 

main, 
Against whose hulls old Boreas in vain 
Had hung his icicles and blown his breath. 
To the brave tar oft bearing messages of death. 



Then rows of dingy oil-casks crowned their sides, 
Packed in dull sea-weed, drifted by the tides, 
A hidden treasure, through whose latent light 
Full many a distant home would be made bright: 
Such partings and such meetings have they seen, 
Those empty wharves could tell heart-stirring 
tales, I ween. 



For, in God's acre, where his angels keep 
Watch by the lowly beds of dreamless sleep. 
Inscribed on many a monumental stone 
Is "Lost at Sea," and with an inward moan. 
Brave Rounseville, o'er thy bitter woes we weep, 
Thy Phebe and her babes snatched by the angry 
deep. 



We strolled one day where the long sand-beach 

bends. 
And water from the herring-weir descends, 
A deepened current. Thickly there were strown 
The scallop-shells, and closely overgrown 

45 



TARRY WITH ME 



The rounded point with plants unseen before 
Which mourning colors in their purple petals 
wore. 



For thither came in darkest hour of night 
A mother, whose fond heart had felt the blight 
Of sorrow, and with crazed and flying feet, 
Chased by what phantom through the village 

street 
Ask those who, waking, heard a shriek of woe 
Afar, and wondered long why they should trem- 
ble so. 



The tide is in. Upon the heated sand 

Two maidens and a youth have joined our band, 

From college and from classic halls set free, 

And shouts and laughter ring out merrily 

As, quaintly clad, we plash the waters blue. 

And greet our daily bath with pleasure ever new. 



Sometimes with Skipper FriedhofF in his boat 
Out past the lighthouse quietly we float 
Where on the beach a fresh spring bubbling up 
Into the salt sea pours its healing cup, 
Past Strawberry Point and past Angelico, 
The sparkling waters wider, deeper as we go. 

46 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Upon the south blue Naushon shadowy trends, 
Eastward Cape Cod her long, bent arm extends, 
Elbowed at Chatham, while her finger-tips 
In cold Atlantic waves she heedless dips, 
The red buoy to the left the skipper leaves, 
Then closely furls his sail and forth the anchor 
heaves. 

Now to each ready hand the fishing line 

The skipper yields, and down into the brine 

Silent we drop the cruel, baited hook. 

The shiny scup one tempting moment look, 

Then, rainbow-tinted, dangle in the air. 

Erect their fins and pant and flounder in despair. 

On land again a happy group we rove. 
Culling rare blossoms in the dark oak grove. 
Their names unknown their beauty cannot hide: 
Her golden web the dodder stretches wide. 
O'er shrub and vine the shining meshes flung, 
With tiny satin buds, like pearly clusters strung. 

Farewell to thee, thou peaceful "place of rest," 
Oft shall thy memory within the breast 
Wake streams of joy, and many a sultry day. 
Weary and heated by life's dusty way. 
We'll sit in fancy on thy rocks once more. 
And hear the cool waves plash upon thy dreamy 
shore. 

Mattapoisett, 1872. 

47 



TARRY WITH ME 



IN MEMORIAM 



" I j^ ITHER way, either way," choose for me, 
JL^ Saviour, 

Earth holds me back by the strong bonds of 
love, 
Husband and children and home's dear attrac- 
tions 
Can I forsake for the mansions above? 

Weakness and suffering oft have I tasted. 
Yet Thou hast granted the antidote rare. 

One ever gentle and hopeful and ready 
For me or with me each burden to bear. 

Baby hands clinging — how can I unclasp them? 

Dear little prattlers, my name on your tongue, 
Pattering footsteps, so closely ye follow. 

How can I leave you, so tender, so young! 

Jesus, Thou callest from earthly endearments 
Up to the bliss of the heavenly love; 

Suffering, weariness, sorrow nor sighing 
Enters the ranks of Thy ransomed above. 

Fain would I come to Thee, Jesus my Saviour, 
Yet my heart's yearnings are known unto Thee, 

Pour Thy rich balm where Thine arrow is smiting, 
"Either way, either way!" choose Thou for me! 

1882. 

48 



AND OTHER VERSES 



TO MARY T. AFTER THE DEATH OF HER 
SISTER MARTHA 

REST, weary heart, thy work complete, 
The long night vigils o'er; 
Fold peacefully, ye patient hands, 
She needs your care no more. 



Yet sleep unwillingly descends 
On eyes to watching trained, 

And patient hands their rest at last 
Have all too dearly gained. 



And many a time the loving nurse 
Will start from troubled sleep, 

For one blest hour of watching yearn, 
And in the darkness weep. 



So close were knit those sister hearts 

In perfect unison, 
What need to voice the slightest wish. 

Those wishes being one? 

49 



TARRY WITH ME 

Christ's tears with Mary's fell before 
The tomb where Lazarus slept, 

And by the open grave to-day 
Hath Christ with Mary wept. 



The tears of Christ! what grateful balm 
To soothe the quivering smart, 

To cool the fever heat, and heal 
The lacerated heart! 



Oh! tender Christ! Thou wilt not leave 

The bleeding heart alone, 
But firm within Thy loving grasp 

Wilt clasp it to Thine own. 

1875. 



50 



AND OTHER VERSES 



ANNIVERSARY OF ABBOTT ACADEMY, 
ANDOVER 

PARTING SONG 
Class Motto, "By noble means seek noble ends." 

LINGER, O bright June hour! 
Fold thy swift-glancing wing! 
Just at the threshold here 

Our feet still fondly cling, 
Tight clasp us loving hands; 
Drop slowly, golden sands! 



Hearts in wide-severed homes 
Beat with our own this morn, 

E'en from the Afric shore 
And Orient's Golden Horn 

Bright glances fly to meet 

Our own, and soft words greet. 



But louder, deeper calls 
The Master, "Linger not! 

Forth from thy youthful dreams, 
Fill thy appointed lot; 

51 



TARRY WITH ME 

A place I keep for thee." 
"Dear Lord, we follow Thee. 



Let us by noble means 

Seek noble ends like Thine, 

Within us may Thy light 
In purest lustre shine! 

So shall we shed abroad 

The glory of our God." 



Time foldeth not his wing, 
Life's door is open wide; 

Teachers, companions loved. 
Farewell! to meet beside 

The joyous summer shore 

Where Time shall be no more! 



1873. 



52 



AND OTHER VERSES 



THE LAST WORDS OF DR. SAMUEL C. 
TAYLOR 

PRINCIPAL OF PHILLIPS ACADEMY, ANDOVER 

"1% iTY duty lies over there," 
I \^ I I heed not the falling snow, 
Where the boys are gathering for prayer, 
And duty calls, I go. 



So he breasted the wintry storm 

To meet his youthful band 
With some precious lesson that Sabbath morn 

From the Testament in his hand. 



Yet a duty lay over there 

Far other than he thought. 
His voice led not their young hearts in prayer. 

But by its silence taught. 



And not from the sacred desk 

With the open page before. 
His lesson that Sabbath morn was given 

Outside the chapel door. 

53 



TARRY WITH ME 



He taught that the only way 

To conquer in the strife 
Is to stand each moment where duty calls, 

And to die in the midst of life. 



To use each rarest gift 

As under the Master's eye, 

To serve with unflagging zeal below 
Till called to serve on high. 

1871. 



54 



AND OTHER VERSES 



TO EDWIN 

SUGGESTED BY HIS ATTEMPT TO KISS THE 

FIGURE OF THE INFANT JESUS ON 

A BREASTPIN 

WHAT is it, my baby darling, 
Keeps thee from thy evening rest ? 
What thy Uttle lips caressing 
Here upon thy mother's breast? 



Dost thou love the pretty color, 
Blue with gold encircled round ? 

Why so fond of this new treasure 
Which thy busy hands have found ? 



Still thou eagerly deftest 

Every art to lure thee hence, 

'Gainst those baby lips thou triest 
Lovingly thine own to press. 



Does some strange emotion thrill thee 
As thy bright eyes gaze on Him ? 

Does the Spirit whisper to thee 
Of the Babe of Bethlehem ? 

55 



TARRY WITH ME 

Look again, my baby darling, 
Look, 'twill lull thee to thy rest, 

See him to his mother clinging. 
His dear hand upon her breast. 



Look and love Him, baby darling. 

For this little One is He 
Who, from heaven so high descending, 

Bled on Calvary for thee. 



He to save thy soul from sinning 
Left the Father of His love, 

Now in glory He is reigning 
On the throne of God above. 



Look and love him, baby darling. 
Then, when death shall call for thee. 

He will ope the gates of heaven 
Lovingly to look on thee. 



56 



AND OTHER VERSES 



IN MEMORIAM— MRS. L. B. 

WHO FELL ASLEEP JANUARY 7, 1862 

SOME there are who think 
The spirit dreads to tear itself away 
From its loved earthly partner, and delays 
To bid the last adieu, still hov'ring near 
Till from its shining wings a mellow light 
Is cast upon the tranquil face and form, 
And heaven's opening glory seems to dawn 
Upon the sleeper. 

Not so we believe: 
But rather that, the welcome summons heard 
To cut the hampering strings that bind it down, 
Dropping its cast-ofF garments by the way, 
It soars aloft on pinions ready plumed, 
Eager to reach the bosom of its God. 



Yet, in the placid features and the brow 
Of one just laid beneath the gathering snows 
Dwelt such unearthly beauty that we gazed 
In silent wonder; e'en the children bent. 
With lurking smiles upon their rosy lips. 
O'er the loved form so sweetly sleeping there. 

57 



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'Twere tame to say, death had no sting for her, 
Her father called her, and she gently passed 
From death to life, from pain and weariness 
Up to His home of rest and tearless joy, 
E'en as a child, a-weary of her play 
Among the flowers, but hears her father's voice, 
And running to him clambers on his knee. 
Pillows her nestling head upon his cheek. 
And quickly drops to slumbers soft and deep. 



'Twas but the last eve of the bygone year 
When all her children, gathered round her board, 
With social chat beguiled its waning hours, 
And, as some sat to watch the old year out. 
Their grandam sat beside them till the clock 
Gave out the hour of twelve, then springing forth 
To "jump into the new," in girlish glee 
Her heart sprang with them, and she gaily said, 
"My children dear, none happier than I 
You'd find, if you should search the city 
through." 



The Sabbath came — the day of holy rest — 
But a slight illness kept her from the place 
Where she so loved to worship, and her seat 
At Sabbath school was vacant; the next morn. 
Unable to resume her household cares. 
Yet, seated in her chair all through the day 

58 



AND OTHER VERSES 

And late into the evening hours, she plied 
Her busy needles, knitting into shape 
Her kindly thoughts of sympathy and aid 
For some brave soldier on his toilsome march. 

The night was chilly, and in tenderest thought 
Of a dear daughter who, while life was young, 
A widow with her orphans, had come back 
To gain a welcome in her father's house, 
And patient nursing through long years of pain, 
She said, "Dear daughter, I will sleep with you 
To keep you warm to-night," and waking oft, 
With loving arms caressingly entwined. 
Would ask, "My daughter, are you warm 
enough ? " 

self-forgetting love! that cannot fail 
Within the mother's breast, but seeks to pour 
E'en its last drop into the daughter's heart! 

Yet one day more, and, seated in her chair. 
Her genial presence cheered the household band 
Till suddenly she asked them, "What's the 

hour?" 
"'Tis four o'clock, dear mother." "Four o'clock! 

1 thought 'twas evening, it grows dark to me." 
Then, pointing upward to a ray from heaven. 
She spoke no more. A few quick, labored 

breaths 
And she had mounted to the Source of Light 
And Love and Joy to dwell forevermore. 

January, 1862. 

59 



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AN INCIDENT OF THE CENTENNIAL OF 
ANDOVER PHILLIPS ACADEMY 

GRACEFULLY the elm trees, with long, 
swaying branches 
Welcome back her children to Andover's green 
hill; 
Gaily float the banners, and the nation's colors, 
With warm smiles of greeting the very welkin 
fill. 

June's fair flowers awaking grace the home- 
returning. 
Day of days! when Phillips counts a century's 
prayers and tears; 
Saintly founders, fathers, mothers; all uprising 
With the angel's incense, where they reckon 
not by years. 



Footsteps firm and springing — footsteps feebler 
growing. 
Hearts still beating stoutly to alma mater press; 
Phillips gazes proudly, as the host advances, 
Tells her small beginnings— her days of feeble- 
ness. 

60 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Mem'rles bright and joyous — mem'ries sad and 
tender, 
Striving for the mastery, every bosom fill, 
Teardrops fall in silence o'er her brave young 
heroes, 
Bursts of rapturous music the 'wildered senses 
thrill. 



Winds of heaven blowing on the spreading can- 
vas 
Make it wave and ripple like the heaving of 
the sea; 
Verdant elm-tree branches, through the web 
translucent, 
Add their sylvan shadows in closest harmony. 



But there comes a footstep, silent and unheeded, 
Halting ere it reaches the summit of the hill — 

Turning now to enter where a fair young maiden, 
Life's full bud just bursting, gazes calm and 
still. 



Will she bid him welcome? Shall this single 
footstep 

Miss the cordial greeting so free to all the rest? 
Will she, coldly frowning, turn her face in terror. 

Bid him follow to the goal like every other 



guest 



6i 



TARRY WITH ME 

Nay! she meekly boweth! Nay! her hand she 
giveth ! 
Peacefully and gently yields up the parting 
breath, 
Out from the quiet chamber, like him unseen she 
presseth, 
Through the gay, thronging host goes bravely 
forth with death. 



Shall we hush the music? shall we furl the ban- 
ners? 
Hang with crape the portal where the strange 
guest entered in? 
Spread a pall of mourning o'er the joyous feast- 
ing? 
Bid the rising chorus cease each wandering 
voice to win? 



Hail! ye waving banners! rapturous bursts of 
music! 
Know ye, ye are greeting a coronation train ? 
All unseen there passeth, 'midst attendant angels. 
One whom God's hand crowneth saint with 
Him to reign! 

June 8, X878. 



62 



AND OTHER VERSES 



FOUR DAYS AT THE LAKE-SIDE 

THE pier is pressed by eager feet, 
The crowded steamers come and go, 
The race-boats wait impatiently 
On thy calm breast, Ontario. 



The air is hushed along the lake, 

The white-wing'd yachts are creeping slow, 
Yet "Ocean Wave" has gained at last 

The welcome goal, Ontario. 



A brisk breeze fills the sails to-day, 
The water has a sprightlier flow, 

And "Ina," in a swifter race, 
Enters thy pier, Ontario. 



See, smitten with a sudden fear. 

Yon schooners yield themselves in tow. 

Seeking the peaceful river-mouth. 
They flee from dread Ontario. 

63 



TARRY WITH ME 

Down swoops the storm with pelting lain, 
From the cold north the harsh winds blow, 

Thy deep in seething tumult roars, 
Wild, turbid, fierce Ontario! 



The floods lift up their hands so high 
The light-house tower is hid below 

A massive dome of silver foam 
That crowns thy piers, Ontario. 



The lake of Galilee once heard 
A midnight voice, so clear, so low. 

Bidding its raging cease, and list! 
It speaks to thee, Ontario! 



The rain has ceased; the billows hear. 
Less wildly tossing to and fro. 

The king of day will crown his bride 
Ere he depart, Ontario. 



* "God's house on fire!" the circling smoke 

And molten-gold together glow. 
Thy waves flash back a roseate hue, 
Bright, glittering, Ontario! 

* As older friends were enjoying a gorgeous sunset by 
the lake-side, little five-year-old Freddie A., looking up, 
exclaimed, "Who set God's house on fire? " 

64 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Yon boat against the northern sky, 
With opal sails transfigured so, 

Seems like a bright-winged angel form 
Walking thy waves, Ontario. 



Eastward the tree-tops bathe in light, 
Pale crimson cloud-banks nestle low, 

The sunset binds a zone of pink 
Around thee, blue Ontario. 



The stars look out — the round, full moon 

A softer lustre sheds below. 
In silver crests the billows break 

Upon thy shores, Ontario. 



The careless, restful days are o'er, 
Like summer birds we come and go, 

The city calls to work once more, 
Farewell, farewell, Ontario! 

Vine Cottage, Charlotte, 1875. 



65 



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"DU BACHLEIN, SILBERHELL UND KLAR" 
GOETHE 

STRANGE soul of man, so clear, so dim. 
Forever gliding swiftly on, 
Upon thy brink, I stand and think. 

Whence cam'st thou? Whither wouldst be 
pone ? 



From dark unconsciousness I came. 

My course runs on through light and love. 

And sometimes o'er my mirror float 
Blue glimpses of the heaven above. 



Therefore I run my course with joy, 
Whither it tends, not mine to tell. 

He at whose voice my waters gushed. 
He, I am sure, will guide me well. 

1872. 



66 



AND OTHER VERSES 



EIN PSALMLIED 

(nicht ganz und gar Davids) 

DU bist mein Schirm und Schild, 
Ich hofFe auf dein Wort"; 
Erneue mich in deinem Bild, 
Mein Schopfer und mein Hort! 



Von ganzem Herzen dich 
Ich suche Tag und Nacht; 

Du horest, hilfst und segnest mich, 
Gelobt sei deine Macht! 



Mein Herr ist auch mein Hirt, 
"Mir wird nichts mangeln," nein; 

Tilgt "alle meine Missethat, 
Mein Heiland, eben mein!" 



67 



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SEASICK 

WITH gentle breeze, 'neath sunny skies, 
The Parthia gained the open sea 
Where, softly rocking on the deep. 
She moved in graceful majesty. 



But, deep beneath the surface calm 

The treacherous groundswell held its sway, 

And strength gave way and spirits drooped 
And power of will was shorn away. 



In listless feebleness and pain. 
Each member of our little band 

In gloomy silence prostrate lay, 
Nor one to lend a helping hand. 



The ports were closed, the lights were out. 
Heavy the air, the darkness deep, 

"This ceaseless thud beneath my brain, 
How slow the weary hours will creep!" 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

But, while I feared, with pitying touch, 
Soft, balmy sleep her influence shed, 

I woke to greet the early dawn, 

The dreaded night of pain had fled. 



Then suddenly, as if the light 
Upon her regal brow had worn 

A secret scroll, which / might read, 
Was to my spirit inly borne 



This word divine — "a little while, 
And thou shalt gaze in mute surprise 

To see the heavenly morning break 
Upon thy wonder-wakened eyes; 



Like the half-conscious dream of night 
This earthly life shall fade from thee. 

And thou shalt know its sharpest pang 
Too brief for bitter agony." 

Dublin, Sabbath, 1876. 



69 



TARRY WITH ME 



COLOGNE FOR THE SOUTH END 

WE cannot tell what magic art 
Monsieur Farina uses 
To change into his "eau de cologne" 
The simples that he chooses. 



But this we know, it costs too much 

For each to have a ration, 
And "common folks" must do without 

Save on some rare occasion. 



Yet, in this philanthropic age 
When Self is down to zero, 

When pretty girls must dofF their curls 
To nurse the wounded hero. 



Our noble-hearted Jean Farine, 
(Munificence stupendous!) 

Provides gratuitous cologne 
For all of us South Enders. 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

It is not in the "eau de" form 
Though o-di-ous surely seeming, 

Expansive like true charity 

In gaseous shape outstreaming. 



And would you seek to designate 
This perfume "subtil, charmant," 

(For even the rose must have a name,) 
"L'odeur des squelettes brulants." 



Seven cities claim, "on honor bright," 
A starting place for Homer, 

And two their titles should unite 
In breveting this odor. 



For if the sacred altar rise 

In Roxbury consenting. 
The victim's smoke seeks other skies 

In Boston unrelenting. 



And, hindered on its upward flight 
By damps from earth conspiring. 

Speaks nightly to ambitious youth, 
"Beware all vain aspiring." 

71 



TARRY WITH ME 

It creeps in through the crevices, 
Enters the closed portals, 

Was ever charity so forced 
On independent mortals? 



When, in a meditative mood, 
Dow^n sitting by the window. 

Watching the tiny soldiers drill. 
The Lilliputian grand show. 



A mammoth pile of bleaching bones 
Comes right before your faces. 

And hollow skulls grin from the top 
With hideous grimaces. 



Turn not in sheer disgust away 
Like an ungrateful sinner, 

But yield your heartfelt tribute to 
Our genrous "Jean Farina! 

One of the Beneficiaries, 1861. 



72 



AND OTHER VERSES 



DURING A TIME OF DROUGHT 

" Who hath measured the waters in the hol- 
low of His hand" (Is. xl, 12). "Behold as 
the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their 
masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the 
hand of her mistress, so our eyes wait upon 
the Lord our God until that He have mercy 
upon us" (Ps. cxxiii, 2). 

HOW long, O Lord, with watching eye, 
As servant on the master's hand, 
Shall the parched earth lift up her cry 
For water from Thy measuring hand ? 



The sun looks down from cloudless sky, 
Death flies upon his piercing beams. 

The highway smokes with powdered dust, 
In distant woods the fire gleams. 



The brown of autumn clothes the hills. 
The velvet turf that June had spread 

In richest green to deck the lawn, 
Like a worn carpet 'neath my tread, 

n 



TARRY WITH ME 



With all its springy softness gone, 

Shows dreary spaces, where the glad 
Bright color vanishing, alone 

Reveals the background, dun and sad, 
And, bending down, I pitying stroke 

With saddened touch the fading grass, 
When lo! in tufts beneath my hand. 

Like wool from sweeping, grows the mass. 



Yon gen'rous tree whose bounty wide 
Claimed at our hand sustaining props 

Athirst, its treasures strives to hold 
In vain, unripe the apple drops. 



The corn has perished in the stalk. 
The berries wither in the field. 

The barn must haste to give its stores. 
The pastures can no longer yield. 



The springs are failing — Lord, we thirst! 

We wake by night, our hearts rejoice 
To hear a patter on the roof. 

We listen — 'tis but as a voice 
Of one in passing quickly by — 

A glorious night — and sunrise dries 
Upon the roof the scattered drops. 

The day is hot — but see, arise 
At sunset hour a welcome shroud, 

And in the far horizon flash 

74 



AND OTHER VERSES 

The silent lightning from a cloud! 

The wind is rising, branches dash 
Against each other, and we wait 

In hope — alas! now hushed the breeze- 
How still the eve! The quiet stars 

Peep down between the tall elm-trees. 



Those tall elm-trees, still hale and young, 
With fifty years upon their face, 

And the late spring's abundant rain 
Has given them unwonted grace. 



How beauteous upon the hill. 

Forming a grand cathedral aisle. 
The elm-trees stand, and double-arched 

Is the great window, and the smile 
Of hill and valley far away. 

Of churchly spire and busy town 
Comes back to greet its sacred depths. 

And the soft light comes sifting down 
Through whisp'ring leaf and meeting branch, 

As through the chinks of ruin gray. 
In this green temple. Lord, we lift 

Our hearts to Thee, and humbly pray 
Thy measuring hand to pour the rain 

Over the scorched and crying earth. 
To cheer the husbandman and give 

To the sealed springs a second birth. 

75 



TARRY WITH ME 

And yet another boon we crave, 
Let not the drought forgotten be, 

But not as corn, or flower, or fruit, 
Lord! make us Hke a glorious tree! 



Deeper and deeper yet, O Lord! 

May all our roots be set in Thee! 
Times of refreshing may we greet, 

Yet, through all drought, unwithered be! 

Sabbath Eve, Andover, 1882. 



76 



AND OTHER VERSES 



THE SPRING BLOSSOM 

ACKNOWLEDGING A BOUQUET OF THE 
EARLY CROCUS 

THE winter's snow is ling' ring yet 
In patches on the hill, 
In nooks along the river side 
The ice is hiding still. 



Yet at your door these buds have dared 

To smile back to the sun, 
And, sheltered on your loving breast, 

There opes a fairer one. 



Bright harbingers of all glad things 

In Spring's exultant train, 
Of gay-winged birds, of Summer bowers. 

Of Autumn's waving grain. 



But dearest harbinger of all 
That welcome this glad hour. 

Earnest of ever-during joys, 

God bless your own heart's flower! 

11 



TARRY WITH ME 

Closely may its young tendrils clasp 
Our dear Lord's suffering tree, 

That, lifted from the dust, it may 
The Sun of Glory see! 



Fair may its tiny cup unfold. 
Free from each darkening stain, 

And may it catch the dew of heaven 
And yield it back again! 



Under the Heavenly Gardener's care 

Late may its fading be, 
And when at last its petals drop 

Like snow-flakes silently. 



When, bursting from its narrow cell 
The ripened seed shall fall. 

And the dark earth shall cover it 
As with funereal pall. 



Deem it not lost, though many an age 

May witness its decay, 
Gabriel's loud trumpet shall announce 

Its resurrection day. 

78 



AND OTHER VERSES 

In some fair vale of Paradise 

Fast by the crystal river, 
May God, the Gardener, bid it bloom 

And bear rich fruit forever! 



Hatfield. 



79 



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THE WHITE ROSEBUD 

TO MRS. A. A. 

I HAVE lost, alas! the beautiful bud 
That you fastened with so much care, 
Saying, "Mother, wear this all day to-day," 
But 'tis gone, and I know not where. 



"And did you not see it, mother dear. 

As it nestled in sweet repose 
So close to the arm that clasped you tight 

When your life was an opening rose ? 
We whispered softly, *0, move it not! 

'Tis mother who placed it there. 
Her last, fond token of earthly love. 

This fragrant rosebud fair,' " 



Then I knew, as I bent to gaze my last. 

All without my will had sped 
This bud from its stem near my aching heart 

To its rest on that peaceful bed; 
But the withered stem had clung fast to me. 

Bereft of fragrance and bloom; 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

Oh! teach me the lesson, dearest Lord, 

Are Hfe's roses all in the tomb ? 
Must my days henceforth be a withered stem, 

Hollow and juiceless and dead, 
With no flower to cheer the lonely home. 

No fragrance around to shed ? 



The rose-bush lives, though its stem may bleed, 

And draws by its vital power 
Fresh juice from the earth to transform again 

Into leaf, and bud, and flower; 
O Lord, my life hath its roots in Thee, 

Fill my thirsty stem with grace. 
That bud and flower and leaf may be 

A rich garland to Thy praise! 

Andover, 1882. 



TARRY WITH ME 



TO MY MOTHER 

ON HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY 

A SCORE of years has passed, mother, 
Since first, with willing ear. 
We turned aside together, mother, 

The Saviour's voice to hear; 
The ground was white with snow, mother. 

The trees were sear and bare. 
But hope was budding in our hearts. 

And love made summer there. 
The flowers had faded long ago. 

The summer-birds had flown. 
The cricket hushed his merry chirp. 

The babbling brook its moan. 
Nature kept silence while the Dove, 

Hov'ring on viewless wing. 
Soft-breathing on the contrite heart. 

Awoke each trembling string; 
Then many a one, sore grieving 

O'er ways for sorrow meet. 
Fell, loving and believing, 

Down at the dear Lord's feet, 
And as the fragrant incense 

Of tearful, earnest prayer 

82 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Rose upward to the Father, 

Almost the sacred air 
Seemed stirred by angel music, 

O'erwelling heaven's wide sphere, 
And, like a far-ofF cadence, 

Filling the ravished ear. 

Yes! twenty years have passed, mother, 

And can we e'er forget 
The Friend who drew our hearts to His, 

The Friend who loveth yet? 
He never, never wearies 

When earthly loves grow cold, 
But beareth with our wand'rings 

As He bore our sins of old; 
No cold glance e'er reminding, 

"I am holier than thou," 
No dark frown ever gath'ring 

Upon that loving brow; 
But closer and yet closer 

He draws us to His breast. 
Oh! will it not be sweet, mother. 

Forever there to rest ? 
For e'en our earthly friendships. 

Two hearts in Christ made one. 
Transfigured thus, foreshadow 

Heav'n's bliss on earth begun, 
"And e'en the lowliest drudgery, 

Exalted through His love. 
May become as willing service 

As the swift-wing'd hosts above." 

83 



TARRY WITH ME 

Another twenty years, mother — 

Will they find you with the Lord ? 
And shall I too be there, mother, 

In glory with my Lord ? 
If not. He'll be with me, mother, 

None from His loving hand 
Can pluck the feeblest of His flock 

Till in that better land 
'Mid pastures green, by living streams. 

Our willing feet shall tread, 
Oh! happy pastures! blessed flock 

By the Good Shepherd led! 

1863. 



84 



AND OTHER VERSES 



To a Friend, in Acknowledgment of a Pink 
Rosebud with a card attached, In Memory of. 

THE STILL-BORN 

TIS the first rose of summer, 
Not suffered to bloom! 
'Tis our fond heart's spring-blossom, 
Just born for the tomb! 



See, the petals fold tightly 
The heart of the rose! 

And no bright little peepers 
The eyelids disclose! 



Soon will fade the bright hue from 

The rose's fair cheek, 
And no faint blush suffuses 

Our lilv so meek. 



Culled before it can blossom. 

No seed to the earth 
In its down-dropping whispers 

A glorious rebirth. 
85 



TARRY WITH ME 

And how with our Hly? 

No Hfe-giving breath 
From the Father of spirits, 

But still, icy death. 



Is this culled like the other? 

Has it vanished for aye, 
With no ripe seed down-dropping, 

This bud of a day ? 



'Tis the Father who knoweth, 
Our eyesight is dim, 

And His love is the stronger, 
We leave it with Him. 



1867. 



86 



AND OTHER VERSES 



HERRNHUT 

SHAWANGUNK MOUNTAINS 

THE cloud has lifted from the "mount of 
rest," 
Yet filmy vapors hide the low canal 
And shroud the narrow valley from our sight, 
So gently rising, like an incense sweet 
Of grateful thanks to heaven from parching earth 
Whose burning thirst is slaked, and fever-heat 
Abated, where of late the ling'ring sun 
Had scorched the meadows with his ardent gaze. 
And now behold across the lower mounts, 
Yet high above the valley, snowy drifts 
Of feath'ry lightness, like the silver barb 
From golden dandelions' ripened seed. 
On yonder height there seems an azure sea 
By foamy billows tossed, and high above, 
Against the circling sky, each swelling mound 
And sharper peak in boldest outline stands, 
Wondrous in beauty 'neath the growing light. 



The Lord is risen to-day! a quiet group 
Has gathered in the parlor — heads are bowed 

87 



TARRY WITH ME 

In rev'rent silence as with closed lids 

The Friends hold converse with the Source 

Divine, 
In prayers warm-glowing, though the lips move 

not. 
Years eight and fourscore have with partial steps 
Left lightest traces on the brow of him 
Whose measured accents, from deep heart of love, 
Tell of the bliss of those who quiet wait 
To catch God's voice within the inmost soul, 
Bidding all worldly care and thought depart 
Far from the scene where God His children meets. 
And one is here most closely linked to her. 
The sweet evangelist of temperance, 
So lately bidden to the marriage feast. 
Hand clasped in hand, the closing hour had 

found 
The twain whose hearts had grown in unison 
Too strong for death to part where life had been 
To one great cause devoted, and she speaks 
Words few and fitting of the precious text 
"Borne in upon her" in this sacred hour. 
The Lord hath spoken, "My sheep hear my 

voice," 
Then friendly greetings mark the closing scene. 



AND OTHER VERSES 



THE PRAYER-MEETING, WHERE WAS IT? 

A TRUE HISTORY 

WAS it beneath yon temple's hallowed dome, 
Where the deep organ swells its jub'lant 
peal, 
Where softly falls the light through colored panes. 
And gay-dressed throngs on velvet cushions 
kneel ? 

Not here! not here! 
'Twas "'baft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 



How wended they their way ? Through vestibule 
With checkered marble floored — through long- 
drawn aisles, 
Their footsteps muffled as in meadow grass, 
While words of greeting pass, and nods and 
smiles ? 

Not here! not here! 
"Abaft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 

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No light to guide them through those seventy 
feet; 
With heads bowed down, upon their hands 
and knees, 
Groping 'tween decks, o'er bales and boxes piled, 
To reach a place where they may pray at ease, 
They're here! they're here! 
"Abaft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 

What brought them ? Many of that brave ship's 
crew 
Had used God's name in cursing — none in 
prayer: 
What but God's Spirit moving o'er the deep, 
Silent, pervasive as the viewless air 

Had brought them here 
"Abaft the bulkhead, by the cable tier"? 

Not one of them could pray, yet one was there 
Of genial nature, to whose skilful eye 

Fair Learning's book stood open, and at eve. 
Seated around the table, work laid by, 

He read its pages to his comrades dear. 

Now "'baft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 

From reading and from writing, lowest rounds 
Upon the ladder, they, with mounting heart, 

Had clambered to the stars, astronomy 
And navigation, theory and art. 

These comrades dear. 

Now "'baft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

Out on the boundless ocean, lifting up 

Their wond'ring eyes to mark those circling 
spheres 
That guide the mariner through trackless seas, 
And still roll undisturbed through changing 
years, 

These comrades dear. 
Now "'baft the bulkhead, by the cable tier," 



Caught in their upturned gaze a piercing ray 
From Heaven's bright blaze of glory, and from 
them 
Broke forth with eager lips the heart's strong cry, 
"Show to us, teacher, now the 'Star of Beth- 
lehem.'" 

So spake these comrades dear 
Now "'baft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 



And can he point them ? O'er his tender youth 

A mother's love had watched with anxious care. 
And now, with wrestlings strong, through long 
delays, 
Wafted across the sea, that mother's prayer 

Finds answer here 
"Abaft the bulkhead, by the cable tier." 

91 



TARRY WITH ME 

The Bible and the Prayer-Book — long they lay 
Where her dear hands had placed them — lifted 
now 
Out to the light of day — to God's own light, 
More blessed still, as rev'rently they bow, 
These comrades dear, 
"Abaft the bulkhead, by the cable tier," 



To seek a Father's guidance o'er the voyage, 
Th' uncertain voyage on Life's tempestuous sea, 

Bethlehem's bright star arose upon their night, 
It leads them as they near eternity. 

It brought them here, 
"Abaft the bulkhead, by the cable tier" 

Boston, i860. 



92 



AND OTHER VERSES 



"JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN" 

IN MEMORIAM, A. M. 

JERUSALEM, the Golden"! 
Through pearly gates ajar 
Our loved one passeth to thee, 

And, as the evening star 
Tells w^here the day departeth 

Adown the paling West, 
A ray from out thy portals 
Marks her entrance into rest. 

Hard by the sacred threshold 

She drops her robes of sin. 
In white and glist'ring raiment 

She gladly enters in, 
The frosts of fourscore winters 

Vanish like morning dew, 
Fresh life springs up within her. 

Eternal, ever new. 

In her right hand uplifting 
A bright and jeweled crown. 

Before the throne low-bending 
She will haste to lay it down. 

93 



1868. 



TARRY WITH ME 

O bright, effulgent glory! 

O vision passing sweet! 
How can we mourn her transit, 

For such fruition meet! 



With ardent prayer unceasing 

Freighting rich years below, 
Safe in the golden city, 

Will she forgetful grow? 
Nay! in the Heavenly garden 

Each grace strikes deeper root, 
And fairer grows the blossom. 

More luscious is the fruit. 



Then, in the cloud of incense 

The golden censor bears. 
Have we not still a portion, 

Or have we lost her prayers ? 
"Jerusalem, the Golden"! 

Dear city of the heart. 
Soon shall we cease to question. 

And know thee as thou art. 



94 



AND OTHER VERSES 



"THE GIANT CITIES OF BASH AN' 

I STOOD on the watch tower of Salcah, 
The city lay dead at my feet, 
Its cold form defying the ages 

Rolling by since its heart ceased to beat. 



I gazed on the mountains of Bashan 
Where Og the last giant held reign, 

On the far-away towers of Beth-gamul, 
And Moab and Edom's wide plain. 



On thirty dead cities unburied, 

Dark and blackened, in silence profound, 
Till the low, plaintive wail of the jackal 

Woke echo and answer around. 



And I thought of the mighty Rephaim 

Who laid these grand stones in their place 

Ere Terah went forth from Chaldea, 
Far back in the dawn of our race. 

95 



TARRY WITH ME 

By a people like "grasshoppers" vanquished, 
God's chosen ones, called through the sea 

By His word, "To the river Euphrates 
Mine angel shall go before thee." 



Oh! hadst thou been true to thy Leader, 
That land of rich promise were thine! 

But hot waxed His anger against thee, 
And swiftly thou too must decline! 



Proud Rome has ruled over these cities. 
Here Greece has inscribed her fair name, 

Here the church of the Christian has risen, 
And here too the false prophet's fane. 



But the joy and the gladness are "taken," 
The land crieth out in its woe, 

Oh! weep " with the weeping of Jazer" 
The sweet "vine of Sibmah" laid lov*'! 



Long brambles hang out from the doorway 

Of dwellings forsaken of men, 
My footfall awakes mournful echoes 

And startles the fox from his den. 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

But wilt thou be quieted never? 

Forever a charge to fulfil? 
"Put up thyself into thy scabbard," 

Oh, "sword of the Lord," "and be still"! 



Shall these cities lie lifeless forever? 

Forever forsaken of men ? 
"Thus far is the judgment of Moab," 

Saith God, "I will bring her again." 



And shall not the rich land of promise 
By the feet of the "remnant" he trod, 

When Jesus of Naz'reth is honored. 
And Israel returns to her God ? 

187a. 



97 



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SUGGESTED BY STEVENSON'S "AES 
TRIPLEX" 

LIVE while you live 
And be not daily dying. 
Full measure give 

Each moment, swiftly flying; 
The path unknown, 

With doubt and dangers teeming. 
Is still thine own. 

No time for idle dreaming. 
Seize with firm grasp 

The hand divine extended, 
Nor loose thy clasp 

Until the journey's ended; 
Then shall thy soul, 

Grown stronger through endeavor, 
Press toward the goal 

Forever and forever. 

1903. 



98 



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THE SAVIOUR 

"And thou shalt call His name Jesus, for 
He shall save His people from their sins." — 
Matt, i, 21. 

SAVIOUR of sinners, from Thy throne 
Of glorious majesty, 
Oh! send the gracious Spirit down 

To teach Thy truth to me! 
Fain would I know Thee as Thou art, 

Thou Holy Lamb of God! 
Fain would I wash my sins away 
In Thine atoning blood! 



Say, didst Thou stoop to mortal form 

And lay Thy glories by 
To bear the burden of my guilt 

On mournful Calvary; 
Or wast Thou but a pattern sent 

Of perfect righteousness, 
That I might follow in Thy steps 

To paths of love and peace ? 
And was it but to set the seal 

To what Thy lips had spoken 
Thy blood, like water, was poured forth, 

And Thy dear body broken ? 

: , 99 



TARRY WITH ME 

Forbid it, Saviour! then for me 

Thou must have died in vain; 
Thy perfect Hfe can ne'er be mine, 

For sin has left its stain 
Upon this guilty, erring heart, 

And conscience cries for blood 
To wash me still each hour anew, 

And bring me near to God. 



Nay! by Thine agony and tears 

In dark Gethsemane, 
By thy loud outcry, "Why, my God, 

Hast Thou forsaken me?" 
By all the toil and anguish laid. 

Dear, spotless Lamb, on Thee, 
I see my soul's great ransom paid, 

I see Thee slain for me! 



Nor me alone, for all who turn 

To God shall be forgiven. 
Both we who know and love on earth. 

And they who first in heaven 
Shall learn Thy name and offering. 

One ransomed, blood-washed throng, 
With golden harp and voice shall swell 

The new, exultant song. 

1855. 



100 



AND OTHER VERSES 



THE GOD-MAN 

OH! is it not, when hours of trial come 
And the foundations of our earthly joy 
Unstable seem as water, sweet to lean 
Our fainting spirits with a quiet faith 
Upon the Saviour's bosom, there to feel 
The pulsings of His heart of sympathy, 
And know that He Who tasted human woe, 
Ev'n to its lowest dregs of bitterness, 
Has yet almighty power, and can at will 
Speak our deliverance, or give us grace 
To come forth purified from self and sin ? 



I can remember well when 'twas not so, 

When much I longed, yet ventured not, to cast 

Myself upon Him — for my early steps 

Were not so guided — he to whom I looked 

As God's own preacher — on whose glowing words 

Of eloquence oft breathlessly I hung, 

And felt my soul's depths stirred as he spoke. 

Had given me doubts instead of simple faith, 

And filled my breast with endless questionings 

That found no answer. 

lOI 



TARRY WITH ME 

In that hour of gloom 
A cloud seemed resting on God's Holy Word, 
And its most simple doctrines failed my grasp, 
Ev'n as the wrecks from a doomed vessel torn 
And buffeted upon the angry waves; 
Hither and thither was I rudely tossed 
Upon the sea of doubt, until at length. 
With prayer upon my lips, I called to Christ 
That He would point the way, for I had learned^ 
Though blindly, yet to trust Him, and my heart 
Yielded its tribute, while as yet I knew 
Him not as Deity. 

A moment more 
And the cold waves of fear swept over me; 
I dared not now approach the Master, Christ, 
With words of worship: He, though holier far 
Than all beside, and Maker of the worlds, 
Still seemed a being formed by God's own will, 
And set by His good pleasure over all 
The rest of His creation, as the head, 
The first-born, best-belov'd, yet still a son. 
And so the prayer was ended, lest I might 
Be guilty of idolatry, and give 
To him the honor due to God alone. 

And now with eager gaze I turned again 
To catch one solitary ray that shot 
Athwart the darkness, and full earnestly 
I plead with the Great Father to increase 
The light, and pour His Spirit down to guide ' 
My wav'ring feet into the way of truth; 

102 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Nor plead in vain, for He is ever near 

To hear His children when they cry to Him; 

He shed His holy light upon the Word, 

And the thick cloud was scattered, and I saw 

Daily new truths that were concealed before, 

And soon my dear Redeemer was revealed 

In the full glory of His Deity, 

And I might pray to Him, and love Him too 

Ev'n as I loved the Father, without sin. 

Oh! blessed revelation! yet more blest, 

More glorious still, when, on the great white 

throne 
I shall behold the Triune Deity; 
And, as I turn away, in rapture lost, 
Upon my dazzled vision shall be poured 
The milder radiance of my risen Lord, 
Clothed in His glorified humanity! 
And I too shall be like Him, from the tomb, 
Dropping this mortal vesture, I shall rise 
Glowing with life and immortality! 

1853. 



103 



TARRY WITH ME 



THE LORD'S PAVILION 

" In the time of trouble He shall hide me in 
His pavilion; in the secret of His tabernacle 
shall He hide me." — Psalms, xxvii, 5. 

THERE'S a still and secret chamber 
Deep within the stricken heart 
Where no friendly foot may enter, 
And the mourner sits apart. 



And not once, for one brief moment, 
Can the heavy weight of woe 

E'er be Hfted by another. 

Though the loving tear may flow. 



Oh! the dreary desolation 

Of this new and unshared grief! 

Human strength lies crushed and bleeding 
Can the Saviour bring relief.? 



Yes, it is the Lord's pavilion, 
This still, sacred room apart. 

And His foot divine can enter 
The dim lab'rinth of thy heart. 

104 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Tight He draws the tented curtain, 
Then His arms are opened wide, 

Folding thee in warm embraces 
Closely to His wounded side. 



Linger in this blissful presence. 
Pour thy woe into His breast, 

Feel His breath upon thy forehead. 
Deep within His glorious rest! 

1870. 



105 



TARRY WITH ME 



TO MRS. C, TEACHER OF THE 

PORTUGUESE CHILDREN'S 

SEWING SCHOOL 

NAY, turn away from the window! 
Those beautiful, wistful eyes 
Will but keep thy warm heart aching. 

Will exhaust the full supplies 
Of courage and strength thou needest 

This hour for those within, 
For the little band thou hast gathered 

From poverty, sorrow and sin. 
Then turn away from the window, 

For, if thou shouldst open the door. 
They would swarm into the schoolroom, 

They would kneel upon the floor 
To clasp the hem of thy garment, 

To kiss thy tired hand, 
They would press so closely about thee 

That thou couldst scarcely stand. 
Ah! turning again to the window? 

Those wonderful, pleading eyes, 
Like a magnet, thine own are drawing 

With ever new surprise 

1 06 



AND OTHER VERSES 

At the liquid depths of sorrow 

Lit up in those "dark-bright" eyes 
By gleams of imprisoned sunshine, 

Caught from golden-tinted skies, 
Where the ever deep'ning Tagus 

Flows on to the deeper sea, 
Where sheep roam over the hillside, ^ 

And vines bedeck the lea, 
Where the orange holds its blossoms 

Until its fruit grows old, 
Where the warm earth yields her harvests. 

Forgetting the winter's cold. 
Where the fathers, in long-gone ages. 

Sought the far-off Indian wave. 
The land of the peaceful shepherd. 

The land of the sailor brave. 
And, true to those sires, still roaming. 

The sons, upon freedom's shore, 
Their wives and their children leaving, 

Go forth on the seas once more. 



But Pestilence breathes on these lone ones, 

All shrink from their touch in dread, 
They have lost their daily labor, 

They are losing their daily bread; 
Lo, hungry and cold, at the window 

They linger to gaze within. 
While the pitiless rain is drenching 

Their garments scanty and thin. 

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TARRY WITH ME 



But turn away from the window, 
Weary teacher, and bar the door, 

The room is full already. 

Thou canst not care for more! 



Still, still they wait at the window, 
Oh ! will they not go away ? 

Another time thou canst greet them, 
Bid them come some other day! 



Dear sisters, in homes of comfort 

By sire and son made bright, 
Shall we turn away from the window ? 

Shall we draw the curtains tight? 
Shall we leave those wistful glances 

To the weary teacher alone, 
Lest conscience too loud may whisper, 

"Thine arms should be round her thrown?' 



Nay! let us look out of the window! 

Then perchance, on the other shore 
Those beautiful eyes may greet us 

With blessings forevermore. 

1872. 



108 



AND OTHER VERSES 



JOHN JONES 

TWAS in an old Welsh chapel, 
Some sixty years agone, 
That, midst the waiting people, 
John Jones stood up forlorn. 



For he had signed the cov'nant 
To tread the heav'nward way, 

But, yielding to temptation, 
His feet had gone astray. 



And so, from the church records 
He had so sore disgraced. 

The parson sadly told him 
His name must be erased. 



Then, turning to the gall'ry 
Where sat a godless band, 

The parson said, "Will ye now 
Welcome with friendly hand 

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TARRY WITH ME 

Your former comrade turning 

Back from the heav'nward way?' 

"Sinners enough," their answer, 
"Have we already, nay!" 



Once more the saints he questioned, 
"This wand'rer from your fold, 

Will ye again receive him 
And cherish as of old?" 



"Of spurious professors," 
The saints, alas! replied, 

"We have too large a number, 
Nay! let him stay outside!" 



Then solemnly the parson 
In pity — softened tones, 

"Sinner and saint reject you, 
Where will you go, John Jones. 



No plea had he to offer. 
Of heinous sin convict. 

Cut off from cov'nant mercies, 
The church's derelict. 

no 



AND OTHER VERSES 

No hand to give him welcome, 
No heart to give him cheer, 

Alone upon Hfe's ocean, 
With ne'er a mate to steer. 



Yet bravely made he answ^er, 

"I am not left alone. 
One great heart still sustains me, 

One w^arm hand clasps my own. 



I am forgiv'n already, 
Jesus has heard my cry, 

And I am His forever. 
Whether I live or die." 



'Twas like a wave inrolling 
From the great sea of love. 

Sweeping away their coldness 
And bearing them above, 



Till, echoing the paean 

Sung by the heav'nly train, 

The church with voice uplifted 
Welcomed him back again. 

Ill 



TARRY WITH ME 



THE LONG SANDS 

I WALKED upon the beach alone, 
The sun had sunk to evening rest — 
I walked upon the beach alone — 

My life-star too had sought the West. 



I passed a pair with shining eyes 

Whose glowing hearts were clasping hands, 
They greeted me in friendly guise, 

Then slowly paced the soft-gray sands. 



Yon group of youths and maidens tall 
Gave token of their loving bands, 

Yet, turning now away from all, 

These happy lovers paced the sands. 



The fulness of their joy flowed o'er 

And touched me — yet my heart made moan, 

Such pleasure comes to me no more, 
I walk upon the beach alone. 

112 



AND OTHER VERSES 

And never on life's sands again 
The parted one will walk with me, 

But we shall meet upon the m9in, 
The ocean of eternity. 



Again they passed — a daughter now 

Walked close beside them, but she turned 

And quickly joining me, methought 
Her heart o'er mine in pity yearned. 



And so I said, "Oh, do not leave 
Your parents just to walk with me!" 

With budding womanhood's sweet tact 
She answered, '"Tis not well you see 



That I should interrupt their joy, 

For months have passed since last they met, 
Each has so much to say to each," 

And so I walked with Margaret. 

York Beach, Me., 1889. 



"3 



TARRY WITH ME 



IN MEMORY OF 
MISSES WARFIELD AND NORCROSS, 

WHO DIED AT THE BEGINNING OF THEIR WORK 

SO quickly gathered to the Shepherd's bosom! 
Safe folded there 
Where flow the deep, still waters of salvation 

'Mid pastures fair! 
Their fresh, young lives, like lambs upon the 
altar, 
But just laid down, 
An ofF'ring to the Lord of sweetest savor. 
And lo! the crown! 



Full many a heart at home had learned their 
story. 
And, lovingly, 
Full many an ear was bent to catch glad tidings 

From o'er the sea. 
Where Harpoot's daughters saw a star arising 

Far in the east. 
And Eski Zagra's maidens gladly welcomed 
The gospel feast. 

114 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Yet Harpoot hears to-day with wounds fresh- 
opened 

And bated breath 
That Eski Zagra weeps her much-loved teacher, 

Low laid in death. 



Called to a higher service, is the lower 

So soon laid by ? 
Yearning to cull rich fruitage for the Master, 

Will He deny ? 



Ask of each wave that washeth fair Mauritius, 

Each passing breath 
That fans the grave where Harriet Newell 
sleepeth, 

Mighty in death. 
Mark well the lesson — Christ's true martyrs, 
dying. 

Are precious seed. 
Buried, to rise with forces still increasing, 

A host indeed! 

1870. 



115 



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THE CRY FROM OSAKA 

MAIDEN, o'er the canvas bending, 
Weaving colors rich and rare, 
Roses bloom beneath thy fingers, 

Lilies ope their petals fair: 
Now the pale, white porcelain gloweth 

Warm with life, in order still 
Bird and butterfly and blossom, 

Marshaled by thy magic skill; 
Happy task, with forms of beauty 

Thus to fill the busy hours. 
Humbly following His footsteps 

Who has decked the earth with flowers. 



Now, through mazy web of German 

Patiently thy search has passed, 
Nothing baffled, still pursuing, 

Thou hast seized the thought at last; 
Led by Schiller's guiding genius 

Thou hast crossed the lake with Tell, 
Kept the moonlit tryst at Riitli, 

Marked the fateful arrow well: 

ii6 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Brave thy strife, to conquer language, 
Progress greets the earnest will; 

Hast thou thought to ask the Master, 
"Lacks there higher service still?" 



Lowly in the closet bending, 

Hearest thou the far-off cry 
From the women of Osaka, 

"Haste to teach us ere we die? 
Fathers, brothers are arising. 

They have caught the dawning light, 
But no sister comes to lift us 

From the misery of night; 
Haste! oh, haste thee! learn our language, 

Thou thyself mayst write the lays, 
Lend us wings to soar to heaven 

In thine own glad psalms of praise; 
Fairer than the choicest colors 

Blended faith and truth shall shine, 
Warmer than the glowing porcelain 

Hearts new-born by love divine." 



" Fathers, brothers, shall they leave us 

In the darkness of despair 
While thou ling'rest o'er the canvas 

Weaving forms of beauty rare?" 



117 



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HOME MISSIONARY HYMN 

WHERE dark Missouri sweepeth 
Past many an Indian grave, 
Where Mississippi beareth 

No more the sobbing slave, 
New England's scattered children 

Pine for the living bread. 
Oh! speed the healing waters! 
The gospel banquet spread! 



Where Michigan so closely 

The giant lakes enfold. 
Where by the peaceful ocean 

Glitters the Gate of Gold, 
Where roll the boundless prairies, 

The ripened harvest bends, 
Thrust in thy sickle, reaper. 

Before the harvest ends! 



Where Utah's sad-faced women 
Unloved and hopeless weep. 

Where o'er the Southern cabin 
Settles a darkness deep, 

ii8 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Tell of a Saviour ready 
Each bitter grief to share, 

Oh! haste thee, dauntless teacher, 
The open Bible bear! 



Before our Western portal 

The sons of morning stand; 
Go forth, O Christian nation, 

Extend a greeting hand! 
Proclaim the Great Redeemer 

Who died for sinful men, 
And bid them speed the story 

To China's shores again! 



119 



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MISSIONARY HYMN 

"Jesus saith unto her: Said I not unto thee, 
that if thou would'st believe, thou should'st see 
the glory of God." — John xi, 40. 

JESUS, o'er the grave victorious, 
Lord of life and death Thou art! 
Jesus, Saviour, Son of Mary, 
Thou hast still a human heart! 



Bethany hath heard Thy groaning; 

"Jesus wept," O hearts that grieve! 
He hath said, the Father's glory 

Ye shall see, if ye believe. 



Where afar, in heathen darkness, 
Woman wails beside her dead, 

Look, O Lord! in tender pity. 
Bid her soul be comforted! 

120 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Jesus wept our tears to banish, 
Jesus died that we might Hve; 

May we, Lord, Thy great salvation 
Given freely, freely give! 



Let us speed the precious message, 
Jesus wept and Jesus died, 

Till we see our Father's glory, 
And the earth is purified! 



121 



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THE LORD'S PRAYER 



" The Prayer of the Nazarene, ' Thy king- 
dom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is 
in Heaven,' will surely be answered. Do 
Christian people believe that Jesus prayed in 
vain?" — "Modern Socialism," by Rev. C. H. 
Vail. 



*♦ IT^ATHER, Thy kingdom come!" 

]^ This universal cry 
From crowded church, from closet lone, 

Unceasing soars on high. 



The household altar knows 
This daily uttered prayer, 

And wide o'er continent and sea 
It fills the very air. 



E'en when the lips move not 

The spirit is not dumb, 
But with continuous urging pleads, 

"Father, Thy kingdom come!" 

122 



AND OTHER VERSES 

"Thy kingdom come!" when greed 
Shall cease its selfish reign, 

"Our Father's" children closely linked 
By love's bright, golden chain! 



When each without constraint 
Shall seek his neighbor's weal, 

And, for the common brotherhood, 
All strive with loyal zeal! 



Thus praying, do we watch 

With wide, expectant eyes. 
Till faith shall change to rapturous sight. 

And we can grasp the prize? 



Alas! we doubting say, 

"In patience must we wait 

Till selfishness is washed away 
Beyond the pearly gate." 



Then why, O Nazarene, 

Why mock our hearts each day 
With hopes and promises so vain 

In teaching us to pray, 

123 



TARRY WITH ME 

"Thy kingdom come! Thy will 

Be done upon the earth 
As in the heaven!" That kingdom, Lord, 

Oh! hasten into birth! 



Yet shall we idle stand 

While Christ the work must do ? 
Nay! we must follow in His steps, 

And share His suff' rings too! 



Each must his shoulder yield 

To lift the sin and woe 
Until the King shall claim His own, 

And reign with us below! 

1899. 



124 



AND OTHER VERSES 



MY HOME— WHERE IS IT? 



" For here have we no continuing city, but 
we seek one to come." — Hebrews xiii, 14. 



NO home abides me here 
Save in those hearts more dear 
Than Hfe itself; with pilgrim feet I roam, 
Now tarrying for a day, 
Now speeding swift away; 
Asks one with friendly face, 
"Where is thy dwelling place?" 
My weary heart replies, "No home! no home!' 



Soon shall I cease to roam; 

A lowly, narrow home 
Awaits me with its couch of dreamless sleep; 

O'er it the robins sing, 

O'er it the violets spring; 

There rest, my throbbing brain, 

While "dust to dust" again 
Is rendered back in silence long and deep! 

125 



TARRY WITH ME 

Soon shall I cease to roam; 

Heav'n's high, resplendent dome 
Sheds light e'en now upon my pilgrim way; 

Past life's unceasing surge, 

Beyond its outmost verge, 

So glorious and so bright 

It looms upon my sight, 
Fain would I spread my wings and soar away! 



Vain thought! And did He roam. 

Thy Lord ? Had He no home, 
No place whereon to lay His wearied head ? 

Then peace, faint heart, be still! 

Curb thy impetuous will 

Till to those "mansions" fair 

His loving hands "prepare" 
He bids thee, Whose dear blood for thine was 
shed! 



126 



AND OTHER VERSES 



BRIGHT WESTERN STAR 

NO ray of light from thee 
Had crossed th' Atlantic sea, 
Bright western star! 
When brave Columbus, fired 
With zeal, by faith inspired, 
Hailed thee afar! 



CHORUS 

But nations saw thee rise, 
And eager, waiting eyes 
Bade thee ascend the skies, 
Bright western star! 



When fled our pilgrim sires 
From persecution's fires. 

Thy light, O star! 
Beckoned across the main, 
Here faith shall spring again, 

Nor bigot mar! — Chorus. 

127 



i86i. 



TARRY WITH ME 

What if the tempest's stroke, 
What if the battle-smoke 

Dimmed thee, bright star! 
Upward from height to height 
Thee from thy path of Hght 

Naught could debar! — Chorus. 



Thy distant ray imparts 
New hope to aching hearts. 

Bright western star! 
Where heath and shamrocks bloom, 
Where purple vines perfume 

The vales afar. — Chorus. 



Brave, struggling Italy 
Fastens her eye on thee. 

Bright western star! 
More favored than the rest. 
Shall we with recreant breast 

Thy glories mar? — Chorus. 



God of the pilgrim band, 
God of our native land, 

Shield thee, bright star! 
By His Almighty power 
In bright and darkest hour. 

In peace and war! — Chorus. 

128 



AND OTHER VERSES 



IN MEMORIAM 

" Died in Florence, Italy, June 29th, half an 
hour after daybreak, Elizabeth Barrett Brown- 
ing. Is there not more than a sick-bed mean- 
ing in the telegram that she expired just ' after 
daybreak'? For the dream of her life — a free 
and united Italy was at last fulfilled in the 
very 'week she died! The full day-dawn of 
Italy was to shine from France, and she saw 
it and died just after the daybreak. She has 
left one little son. It is a pleasant story told 
of the street beggars that pass under the 
windows of Casa Guidi that they always spoke 
of her, not by her well-known English name, 
but as ' the mother of the beautiful child.' " 
— Theodore Tilton in The Independent. 

" TUST after daybreak," while the air, o'er- 
^ flooded 

With full-choired matins from the orange- 
grove, 
Still with its rippling stirred the gay campagna, 
Opening the flowers as by the breath of love, 
And waking to new life the insect throng, 
Our poet-queen forgot her earthly song! 

129 



TARRY WITH ME 



"Just after daybreak!" all the earth a-glltter 
With diamond drops, each one a mimic sun, 

In bold relief against the cloudless azure 
Turret and tree-top, clear-cut every one: 

Yet upon Casa Guidi's smitten walls 

"Just after daybreak" sudden darkness falls. 



"Daybreak" in Italy! so black the darkness, 
So bright the light from freedom's golden wing! 

A grateful nation swells the rising paean, 
Till the glad chorus makes the welkin ring; 

Yet Florence weepeth tears of blood to-day, 

Her most exultant voice has ceased for aye. 



"Daybreak" in Italy! o'er us deep shadows, 
Rebellious hands dipped in a brother's blood; 

We joyed to think that Casa Guidi's chamber 
Witnessed each day her earnest cry to God. 

Through all her bounds Columbia mourns to-day 

One earnest heart the less to watch and pray. 



"Just after daybreak!" father-land thou gavest 
Thy gifted daughter up in joy and pride. 

Nor grudgingly bestowed that heart so loving. 
Since Italy had claimed her as a bride; 

Thy parent heart lies smitten at the core. 

For the loved daughter may return no more. 

130 



AND OTHER VERSES 

"Just after daybreak!" she whose rarest genius 
Unwarped and firm could bear "the great 
world's praise," 
Yet queenlier, Christlier far than all her poems, 
Drew loved one's close by her sweet household 
ways; 
Why need Death's shadow fall, so drear and 

wild, 
Upon "the mother of the beauteous child?" 



"Just after daybreak!" just before it rather. 
Earth's light grew dim as Heav'n's gate oped 
to thee. 

Thy Saviour met thee struggling in the river, 
He led thee to the city of the free. 

Now with Christ's victors on the golden shore 

Thy song of triumph rises evermore. 

1861. 



131 



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THE FUGITIVE 

WRITTEN THE EVE AFTER THE RENDITION 
OF ANTHONY BURNS 

ONE short, blest hour of freedom, 
When Hfe seemed newly given, 
And the spirit rose exulting 
As an eagle soars to heaven! 



One short, blest hour of freedom, 
Then with a hurried tread 

Back to the land of bondage. 
Tomb of the living dead ! 



And Freedom's banner waving 
So gayly o'er his head, 

Oh! furl it, nor dishonor 
The mem'ry of the dead ! 



On, on through serried infantry, 
Methinks no slave hath e'er 

Won such a glorious pageantry, 
Cannon and sword and spear! 

132 



AND OTHER VERSES 

On to the bristling vessel, 
Then quickly o'er the sea, 

Farewell to each life-giving hope, 
Each dream of liberty. 



Courage, thou bleeding captive. 
Though thousand freemen stand 

Upon thy throbbing heartstrings 
In Freedom's chosen land. 



A more than earthly freedom 
Has to thy soul been given, 

Jesus, thy brother, hath prepared 
A home for thee in heaven. 

June 8, 1854. 



US 



TARRY WITH ME 



PASSMORE WILLIAMSON 

JOY in the mother's breast! 
That feeble, infant cry 
Proclaims an op'ning life whose years 
Run to eternity. 



Ay! one blest thrill of joy! 

Then to the throbbing heart 
Returns its crushing weight of woe, 

And tears of anguish start 



For him whose love has been 
The sunlight of her home; 

Ah! why, to bless his helpless babe, 
Cannot the father come ? 



Ask of yon grated cell 

Where damp and darkness reign! 
Ask of yon narrow cot! 

Ask of the felon's chain! 

134 



AND OTHER VERSES 

What though the prison chill 
Hath seized his aching frame, 

As brave his front as when at first 
He to the dungeon came, 



Guiltless, save of a heart 

That beat for liberty, 
A tongue that nobly dared to speak 

Those thrilling words, "you're free. 



Blest child of such a sire! 

God grant thine eyes may see 
Thy father's prayers and struggles crowned, 

His country truly free! 



Then, in thy hoary age. 
As children's children press 

Lovingly round thy trembling knees 
To seek a fond caress. 



Thy lips shall proudly tell 
This deed of valor done. 

And blessings rest upon the head 
Of Passmore Williamson. 

October, 1855. 



TARRY WITH ME 



CHARLES SUMNER 

MOST grateful South! Thou never dost 
Forsake a son renowned! 
Behold thy Brooks, so young in years, 
With veteran laurels crowned! 



And still they come, those royal gifts, 
Each day is bringing more; 

Did patriotism ever meet 
So prompt return before ? 



Ay! hang the classic weapons up 

Around his parlor walls. 
As former knights, with sword and shield. 

Bedecked their ancient halls! 



Yet see thou take not all away. 
But leave at Washington 

One for each senator that dares 
To call his tongue his own! 

136 



AND OTHER VERSES 

And, lest the courage ever fail 

Your gallant champion, 
See that his silver pitcher be 

Filled up with blood-red wine! 



What worthy laurels shall lue bind, 

Oh, freemen of the North, 
To crown our Sumner's wounded head. 

And show his glories forth ? 



Shall bleeding hearts, and burning words. 
And groans and tears suffice? 

Have we no other offering 

Than prayers that rend the skies ? 



List from his couch of pain the words, 
"Give not! Give not to me! 

Let all to sufF'ring Kansas go, 
For her each off 'ring be!" 



" For her I lifted up my voice. 
For her am smitten now. 
Thrice welcome suff'ring, if it break 
In blessings on her brow!" 

^37 



TARRY WITH ME 



" Empty your coffers for her sake, 
Give with no grudging hand, 
Say to the noblest of your sons, 
" ' Go forth, possess the land.' " 



" Bid them defend her virgin soil 
For God and liberty, 
Then lift your streaming eyes to Heaven, 
And Kansas shall be freel" 

June 9, 1856. 



138 



AND OTHER VERSES 



WELCOME HOME! 

WELCOME Sumner to the city 
Of the staunch old Puritan! 
Welcome to thy home and hearth-stone, 
Massachusetts' worthy son! 
Maiden fair and matron gray 
Join to welcome thee to-day! 



Hale and strong thy going from us, 

Scars and pallor mark thee now; 
Deep into our heart of hearts 

Sank each blow upon thy brow; 

Hearts that ever beat for thee, 

Beating thus for liberty. 



Sumner, oft at morn and even, 
As we bent the rev'rent knee, 

From our gathered band hath risen 
Tearfully a prayer for thee; 
Let us breathe it forth once more 
To our fathers' God of yore. 



TARRY WITH ME 

Thou of life the Sovereign Ruler, 
Crown him with fresh health again, 

Give him courage, patience, wisdom, 
Skill to sway the hearts of men. 
Strength to battle for the right 
Head to plan and arm to fight! 

November 4, 1856. , 



140 



AND OTHER VERSES 



WILLIAM CONWAY 

THE HERO OF WARRINGTON 

BRAVE Conway, 'tis of thee, 
True son of liberty, 
Of thee we sing: 
Firm when thy masters failed, 
Bold when they feebly quailed, 
Our country's flag assailed. 
Thy praise we sing! 



Thou heard'st with bitter pain. 
Thou heard'st with proud disdain 

The craven call, 
"Conway, yon standard lower!" 
"Yon standard! in that hour 
Heaven's direst curses shower 

Upon me all!" 



"Better my aged head 
Were laid low with the dead; 
Nay, masters, nay! 

141 



TARRY WITH ME 

Ask of me, Renshaw, man, 
All that a patriot can. 
But from my country's ban 
Spare me, I pray!" 



Where waves our banner free 
Honored thy name shall be, 

William Conway! 
God grant it long may wave 
Over rebellion's grave, 
Over the true and brave, 

William Conway! 



When thy last battle's o'er. 
When thou shalt serve no more 

'Neath "Stars and Stripes," 
No pale, white shroud be thine, 
Comrades, your hands and mine 
Round his brave form shall twine 

The "Stars and Stripes." 

May, 1861. 



When Commodore Armstrong surrendered 
Pensacola Navy Yard, Conway was ordered to 
lower the " Stars and Stripes." He indignantly 
refused. For this he was complimented by the 
United States Government in an order issued 
by the Secretary of the Navy, which order was 
to be read before the crew of every United 
States war vessel. 

142 



AND OTHER VERSES 



THE IRISH BATTALION 

\S> one lulled to sleep by soft, musical num- 

J_~\_ bers, 

Yet rudely awakened to fearful alarms. 

When Sumter's deep boom broke our long, peace- 
ful slumbers 

The East and the West sprang forth quickly to 
arms. 

Unfurling our standard with deep-stirred emo- 
tion. 

They pledged for its honor their full hearts' 
devotion. 

And, swelling the current as rills to the ocean. 

So freely thy sons came, brave Erin go bragh! 



Yet, armed by the Southron, no terror can move 

them 
To lend to the traitor their hearts warm and leal, 
Thy double fire, Winchester, tried but to prove 

them 
As true to their country as magnet to steel; 
Her light had allured when their green isle of 

ocean 

143 



TARRY WITH ME 

Lay shrouded in storm clouds of gath'ring com- 
motion; 

In her own hour of need shall they fail of devo- 
tion ? 

Nay! nay! say the brave sons of Erin go bragh! 



Driven forth where the battle most deadly was 

raging, 
Their guns were as harmless as weapons of wood, 
Where brother 'gainst brother fierce conflict was 

waging, 
In statue-like calmness this martyr-band stood; 
Their corpses lay thick on the field red and gory, 
But a proud, loving nation shall blazon their 

glory 
And the names shall live ever in rhyme and in 

story 
Of thy brave-hearted sons, green Erin go bragh! 

1862. 



144 



AND OTHER VERSES 



OUR FALLEN 

"The hlood of the martyrs is the seed of the 
church." 

SO speaks the ancient proverb, 
The blood of martyrs shed, 
Each drop a seed, is planted 

In earth's soft, fruitful bed! 
In silence and in darkness. 

Deep buried out of sight, 
Only the Gard'ner v^^atcheth 

Its struggle to the light, 
The rootlet creeping downward 

With ever firmer hold. 
By warm, magnetic drawings 

The tiny stalk made bold; 
And now it greets the sunbeams, 

Then, in the freer air 
Aspiring still, and branching. 

Grows fairer and more fair. 



This seed, with weeping planted 
Deep in the crimson sod. 

What hand shall e'er uproot it, 
The glorious church of God ? 

145 



TARRY WITH ME 

Graves of our martyr soldiers, 

So manifold, so wide, 
Only the Gard'ner knoweth 

All of the seed ye hide; 
Scattered with bitter weeping, 

God's acre guards it well, 
The glory of the harvest 

What raptured tongue may tell 
When, from forgotten hillock. 

And from the honored grave, 
A patriot host arises 

Our land to lift and save! 



146 



AND OTHER VERSES 



CHARLESTON 

THE sands of Morris island rest 
Upon the hero's grave, 
But Shaw's brave spirit hngers yet 

With those he died to save; 
Charleston is burning — she who gave 

Proud insult to their chief; 
Now is their hour for rich revenge, 

Why should they give relief? 
And do his soldiers honor thus 

The lov'd commander there ? 
Nay! blessings on their gentle hearts! 

In Charleston's deep despair, 



Quickly to the grass-grown city, 

"Keeping step to freedom's drum," 
With their country's flag about them, 

First of all the freedmen come, 
By the slave mart, where their children 

Trembling, weeping, have been sold, 
Dropping with their arms of warfare 

Ev'ry vengeful thought of old, 

147 



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Eagerly the engines working, 
Neither skill nor courage fails, 

While they pour full streams of water 
On the burning cotton bales. 



Charleston lives, though scorched and tarnished, 

And the hands that toiled to save 
Reap revenge the sweetest, purest, 

Near their colonel's sea-girt grave. 



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ANDERSONVILLE 

WHERE the pine trees rose majestic 
Offering a grateful shade, 
Fragrant with the breath of heahng, 

Rose the prison's dread stockade. 
But the forest kings were humbled, 

Not one branch was left them then, 
Planted in a mournful phalanx 

Guarding close the captive pen. 
Fiercely smote the sun at noonday. 

And th' enclosure's stifling air 
With the August heat grew deadly, 

Yet a soldier slumbered there; 
Slumbered in a brief forgetting 

Of the war and all his woe, 
Slumbered in a bright remembrance 

Of the glad days long ago. 



He is walking through green meadows 
Rich in grass and waving grain, 

By the broad, deep-flowing river; 
Now he hears the patt'ring rain, 

Now, beside the cooling fountain 

Look! with hollowed hand he bends, 

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While the thin, parched Hps are moving, 
And the fever'd tongue extends. 

Now he spies the ample farmhouse 

With the elm trees' shadow wide, 
Woodbines clamber o'er the doorway. 

And his father sits beside 
Resting from the daily labor; 

But the mother's eager face 
Shows that she has heard his footstep, 

He is clasped in fond embrace. 
Quickly runs the little brother 

Loudly shouting in his glee. 
And the gentle, fair-haired sister 

Climbs unasked upon his knee; 
E'en the black horse neighs his welcome 

And old Tray, with springing feet, 
Licks his hand, while pussy hastens. 

Purring in a cadence sweet, 
Bright the smile on his wan features, 

Blest, thrice blest this hour of sleep! 
Would the dream might know no waking, 

Eyes ope nevermore to weep! 



But a groan of mortal anguish 

Breaks the spell. The vision fled, 

Leaves him in the fetid prison 
'Midst the dying and the dead. 

By a dire home-sickness smitten, 
He must see them all once more; 

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"Only give my oath of promise, 
And I'll pass beyond the door! 

Shall I linger, thirsting, starving, 
Till the death-cart for me call ? 

Though my limbs refuse to bear me, 
Still to freedom I can crawl." 



O'er the foul earth slowly creeping, 

At the very gate he turns; 
Farewell home, and hope, and freedom, 

All for which his fond heart yearns! 
For a comrade spreads before him 

A small flag, that on his breast 
He has worn as pain's best solace, 

And the boy's eyes on it rest. 



He has stood beneath the banner 
When the rattling bullets fell. 

Never shall his death dishonor 
The dear cause he loves so well. 



"Help me, God!" he cries, "oh! never 

Can I turn my back on this!" 
Pressing it with trembling fingers, 

And his pallid lips' last kiss. 
"I am dying, oh! my comrade! 

Should you live, these horrors past, 
Tell my mother I was faithful 

To the flag unto the last!" 



TARRY WITH ME 

Weeping ceased — no groan or struggle; 

With "old glory" on his breast, 
Gently shut the brave boy's eyelids, 

And the soldier was at rest. 



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FREDERICKSBURG 

RICHARD KIRKLAND 

FIERCE had the battle raged 
By Mary's hill, 
Where precious blood had flowed, 

A deep'ning rill. 
And soldiers slept in death, 
Slept cold and still. 



Heard by God's ear alone 
The whispered dying prayer, 

Yet many an anguished groan 
Broke on the startled air, 

For 'twixt the armies lay 

The wounded writhing there. 



And none might bring relief 
Save taking life in hand; 

Helpless both friend and foe; 
Yet one amidst the band 

Of foemen fearless spake, 
"I can no longer stand 

This cry from myriad lips, 



TARRY WITH ME 

'Water, oh! water give!' 
So, gen'ral, let me go 
To aid the sufF'ring foe. 
All day and all night long 
I've heard their cries so strong 
One must be made of steel 
Whose heart could cease to feel; 
Oh! do not say me 'No,' 
But let me freely go 
That I may water give, 
And bid the dying live!" 

Wond'ring the gen'ral caught 
The sergeant's kindling eye, 
" But, Kirkland, do you know 
The moment that you show 
Your head above the wall. 
That instant it will fall 
Pierced by a bullet?" "Aye," 
Said he, "but I'll try." 

Pausing, the gen'ral spoke, 
"Sergeant, to give you leave 
I ought not, yet the nay 
Is more than I can say. 
Go, and God guide your way! 
My blessing you receive!" 



Only one thing he craved, 
A handkerchief of white 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

To raise, his sign to make. 

The gen'ral shook his head 

And slowly, firmly said, 

"No! Kirkland, no!" "All right," 

Spake he with smile so bright, 

"The chances I will take." 



In eager haste he stepped 
Over the parting wall; 
The gen'ral watched above; 
Kirkland, with heart of love, 
Knelt by a suff'ring foe 
Whose head was lying low; 
He raised it to his breast 
That it might gently rest 
While the parch'd lips partook 
Fresh water from the brook; 
The soldier's knapsack laid 
Beneath his aching head. 
Straightened his broken limb. 
Spread the coat over him. 
Then with a full canteen 
Replaced his empty one, 
And with kind words I ween 
The soldier's heart was won. 



No fear of bullet now. 
Upon the open brow 
Of him whom Christ had blest 
A halo came to rest, 

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And God's grace seemed to fall 
Over the parting wall. 

So on and on he pressed, 
And evermore the cry, 
"Water, for God's own sake!" 
While some with feeble sigh 
The silence scarce could break. 
But moved a hand to show 
A deeper depth of woe; 
And thus the hours passed by 
Until each wounded foe 
Had found that love might fall 
Over the parting wall. 

Brave Kirkland, while we raise 

To our own soldiers' praise 

The honors that are due. 

Never can we forget 

Thy love, so warm and true. 

Which counted not thy life 

Too dear after the strife 

To risk for wounded foe, 

And Chickamauga's grave. 

Guarding the noble brave. 

Shall claim a teardrop yet 

For him whose brave heart burned, 

And hand unflinching turned 

To one who lying low 

Claimed from his gen'rous breast 

E'en one brief hour of rest. 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

Would that thine eyes might see 
These glorious later days, 
The bloody conflict o'er, 
When wide from gulf to sea 
One precious flag we raise 
And there are foes no more! 



But, Carolina's son, 
A prophet's soul was thine. 
And in thy gracious deed 
The later glories shine: 
Wherever Christ's mantle falls 
Vanish dividing walls. 



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"I GO A-FISHING" 

Simon Peter 

HOW cold the sunlight on the lake to-day, 
And cold the billows where so lately trod 
Thy blessed feet, O Master, dearest Friend, 
Thou Son of Man, Thou Holy Son of God! 
'Twas drear without Thee! 



And like a dream came back to me Thy words 
When, with my brother Andrew by the sea 

Casting the net, Thou saidst, "You will I make 
Fishers of men" — so "Come ye after me!" 
We followed straightway. 



And, keeping close beside Thee, we have watched 

To see our nation's crown upon Thy brow, 
Ourselves Thy chosen great ones — but alas! 
Where are those hopes and where that glory 
now, 

O Son of David ? 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

Nailed to the cross whereon Thy blood was shed; 

And yet, in dying, Thou hast conquered death; 
Art Thou a king then in the reahns beyond, 

And didst Thou, yielding up this mortal breath 
Achieve Thy vict'ry ? 



Sometimes a vision comes before my soul 
Of crown and kingdom far beyond our ken. 

And glorious conquests for the Messiah yet; 

I wait Thy bidding. Master, until then 

"I go a-fishing." 

How like a dream come back to me to-night 
The home of childhood with its sunny days, 

The later home with riper hopes and fears, 
Its dear companionship and tender grace 
Now gone forever. 

But shall the remnant of mv chastened life 

Be swallowed up in weeping till I greet 
The dear ones gone? Nay! rather, "step with 
step, 
I'll climb the heav'nly way, that so we meet 
More on a footing. 

Perchance the Lord will meet me by the lake, 
And though it be not mine to feed the sheep, 

Or bear one feeble lambkin to the fold. 

Some humble toil for willing hands he'll keep: 
"I go a-fishing." 



TARRY WITH ME 



AN EXTRACT FROM THE FOURTH ACT 
OF "PEER GYNT" 

TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF 
HENRIK IBSEN 

The scene is laid on the coast of Morocco, 
and is part of an after-dinner conversation 
between Peter Gynt and his friends, in which 
the latter show themselves curious to learn 
somewhat of his history. 

Peter Gynt (lights a cigar). 

Dear friends, 
Recall my life's course for the rest, 
How first I came into the West, 
A poor young chap with empty hands, 
And sorely must I toil for bread; 
Trust me, it often fell severe, 
But life, my friends, is ever dear, 
And death is bitter, as 'tis said. 
Well, luck to me was amiable, 
And old Fate he was flexible. 
Things prospered, I was pliable. 
And so it better grew and better. 
Ten years thereafter bore I name 

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Among the merchants of Charlestown 
Of Croesus, while my broad'ning fame 
Flew forth full-fledged, without a fetter 
From sea to sea, till all must own 
I had good luck on board with me. 

Mr. Cotton 
And what your traffic ? 

Peter Gynt 

On the sea 
In negroes sent to Carolina, 
And idol images to China. 
Mans. Ballou 
Fie then. 

Herr von Trumpeterstraale 
The dickens. Uncle Gynt! 
Peter Gynt 
You find, upon permission's point, 
The trade in trembling poise a-swinging. 
That very doubt with sharpest stinging 
Pricked me, at last 'twas odious; 
But, trust me, when you once are in 
'Tis hard to slip away quite loose. 
And ever most severe 'tis when 
The grand machine with all its train, 
Which by the thousand counts its men. 
You suddenly would rend in twain. 
That suddenly I can't abide, 
But must confess, on th' other side. 
That what man calls consistency 
Fve cherished with respect and pride: 
To overstep the bounds too wide 

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Has ever caused despondency. 

Moreover I was growing old, 

My years toward the fifties drew apace, 

Gray sprinkled hairs the truth revealing, 

And, though good health was overwelling, 

Yet often came the thought repelling, 

Who knows how soon the hour pealing 

Of final judgment — from the fold 

The goats shall flee before the Judge's face! 

What should be done ? To stop all trade 

With China was not to my mind. 

I found an outway: quickly made 

New commerce with the self-same land: 

With every spring I idols sent. 

Each autumn ministers intent 

To preach, and for their wants provided. 

As stockings, bibles, rum and rice. 

Mr. Cotton 
Ah ha ! with profit ? 

Peter Gynt 

That's for granted. 
In indefatigable wise 
The preachers worked, success dividing 
With th' other half; if proof were wanted. 
For ev'ry god to China shipped 
They got a coolie duly dipped. 
While one ploughed criss, the other cross. 
The mission's field lay fallow never, 
'Twixt gods and colporteurs no loss. 
Both held in check by parsons ever. 

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AND OTHER VERSES 

Mr. Cotton 
But now the trade in Africk's wares ? 

Peter Gynt 
Here also conquered my morality; 
I knew the traffic was insanity 
For persons in advancing age. 
Man knows not when his pilgrimage 
Shall end, and then came thousand snares 
From camp of your philanthropist, 
Danger of capture bringing cares, 
And stormy wind and weather, risk; 
All set together in one list 
The vict'ry won. Peter, I thought. 
Draw in your sails! look sharp! you ought 
To straighten, if you can, your fault! 
And so I purchased Southern land, 
The last flesh import kept in hand, 
(Which also was of first-class brand.) 
They thrived, grew shining, fat and sleek, 
A joy to them and me each week; 
Yes, without boasting, dare I speak, 
I dealt with them as would a father, 
Which last its own good income bore, 
Schools built I that their virtues score 
A certain, general average held. 
Nor was / idle, but the rather 
I felt myself each hour compelled 
Strictly to watch, lest to my woe 
Their mercury should sink below. 
And now from this share free beside, 
I have escaped the last vexation, 

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I sold it all out, hair and hide, 
The negroes and the whole plantation. 
In taking leave of my estate 
I gave free grog to small and great 
Till men and women got enough, 
And for the widows added snuff", 
Wherefore I hope, provided only 
The word is not an empty shell, 
"Who doth not ill he doeth well," 
My errors are forgotten wholly. 
And I can more than many challenge 
Virtues and sins to even balance. 



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"HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVE," BY 
JACOB RIIS 

"How shall the love of God be understood 
by those who have been nurtured in sight only 
of the greed of man?" "That short, hacking 
cough, that tiny, helpless wail — what do they 
mean? The child is dying with measles. 
With half a chance it might have lived, but it 
had none. That dark bedroom killed it. ' It 
was took all of a suddint,' says the mother, 
smoothing the throbbing little body with trem- 
bling hands. There is no unkindness in the 
rough voice of the man in the jumper who sits 
by the window grimly smoking a clay pipe, 
with the little life ebbing out in his sight, bitter 
as his words sound: 'Hush, Mary! If we 
cannot keep the baby, need we complain — such 
as we ? ' " 

NEED we complain— such as we, Mary? 
Hush! let the baby go! 
Dry up your tears and be calm, Mary, 

Surely it's better so. 
Why would you keep her with us, Mary ? 

Here it is dark and drear; 
Maybe it's light where she'll go, Mary, 
Can it be worse than here? 
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Do you remember the words, Mary, 

When you were sick and low, 
Read by that lovely young girl, Mary, 

Watching and tending so ? 
While she was reading, I thought, Mary, 

Heaven is so bright and fair. 
Could such as you and I, Mary, 

Hope such a home to share ? 
We do not know the right way, Mary, 

Often I feel that God 
Clean has forgot such as we, Mary, 

Is there indeed a God ? 
Those who are called by His name, Mary, 

Shut us from sun and air, 
They are His children, how then, Mary, 

Can the Great Father care ? 
Ah! we know not the right way, Mary, 

Pity there's none to show: 
Need we complain, such as we, Mary, 

Hush! let the baby go! 



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THE CHRISTMAS ^BASKET AT MADISON 
SQUARE GARDEN 

MILE after mile, through busy city street, 
Starving in body, but in spirit proud, 
He struggles to the outskirts of the crowd. 
Then lingers, waiting, with uncertain feet; 
How can he enter and with accents meet 
For one who craves a favor, lowly bowed, 
Ask for the needed food ? His heart beats loud. 
His nerves all quiv'ring; must he then retreat? 
A kindly voice arrests him; "Won't you take 
Home something to the children?" Quick with 

tears 
And choking voice, he tells of starving wife 
And little ones; the "blue-bloused" brother hears, 
And with the Christmas basket go new life 
And hope to struggle for the children's sake. 

December 26, 1900. 



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LEX TALIONIS 

A TRUE INCIDENT 

Suggested by a walk in East Gloucester, 
Mass., after reading the war sermon of Kaiser 
Wilhelm, near the end of the Boxer Rebellion. 

I WALKED beside the beach alone 
Which fashion's feet so late had pressed, 
The summer gone, the guests all flown, 
While close at hand the winter's rest. 



And scarce a ripple seemed to break 

The glassy mirror far and wide. 
The ocean slumbered in its bed. 

The wind was hushed, slow ebbed the tide. 



Yet, o'er the sea, a voice had passed, 
A voice that like a clarion rang. 

The Kaiser summoning to war. 
And in my heart awoke a pang. 

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It seemed the days had come again 
Of fiery zeal and frenzied strife 

When, o'er the holy sepulchre, 

Fell blow for blow and Hfe for hfe. 



It bade the warriors to avenge 

With bloody stripes the bitter wrong, 

And force the infidel to know 

His Christian foe alert and strong. 

And this despite the centuries past 
Since Christ hath set His golden rule. 

Long ere the cross its banner waved 
Confucius better taught his school. 

"Go teach all nations!" with the sword? 

"Baptize them!" with the fire of hell.? 
If this your mission. Christian knights. 

Then speed ye on with shot and shell, 

Revenge and cruel punishment 

That spares not sex, nor youth, nor age: 
'Tis thus ye civilize the tribes, 

And write brave names on history's page! 

Revenge is like an endless chain, 

(Thus mused I while the fire burned), 

The stricken still strikes back again, 
Where will it end ? Just then I turned, 

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And lo! across the northern sky 
A glorious arch from east to west, 

White as the winter's drifted snow, 
Soft as the eider's downy breast. 



Just at the zenith, for a space, 

Like a round sea, the sky peeped through, 
The soft white mist encircling quite 

This ocean of the heavenly blue. 



But, narrowing toward the rim, 

At east and west white pillars stood. 

Uniting thus, with sea between. 

The earth in one wide brotherhood. 



The lovely vision cheered my heart, 

I held it as a prophecy, 
It bade the anxious fears depart 

And said, "This shall thy token be, 



" A missive from our western shore 
The martial spirit shall restrain, 
And with an olive leaf of peace. 
Like Noah's dove, return again.' 

December, 1900. 

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TO HER MAJESTY— THE QUEEN 
WILHELMINA 

FROM THE FRENCH OF JEAN RAMEAU 

"0 Reine de vtngt ans, majeste frele et blonde." 

FAIR Queen of twenty years, frail majesty, 
thy birth 
Hath given thee sway o'er Holland, yet thy 

tender hand 
Nor weapon needs, nor sceptre, to enforce com- 
mand; 
Thine august kindness crowns thee queen of all 
the earth! 



One kingdom only claiming, Europe is thine own, 
Where'er a heart is beating, there thine empire 

lies, 
And each despairing one who suffers and who 

sighs 
A willing subject kneels before thy gracious 

throne. 

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Thou only, 'mongst the kings, in manly attitude 
Hast stood, thy maiden hands outstretched for 

sorrow's aid, 
E'en as the hoary oak, worm-eaten and decayed, 
Leans on the climbing rose and feels its strength 

renewed. 



Through thee we can believe, in this old earth of 

ours. 
Where evil beasts so oft pursue the trembling 

saint. 
That God, the good and just, is ever immanent, 
Without thee had we doubted e'en the heav'nly 

powers. 



Oh, thanks! for having smiled upon our sore 

distress. 
Caressed the lion gasping 'neath the wolves of 

prey. 
For having, like a swan, frightened the owls 

away. 
And laid a touch of grandeur on our littleness. 

O woman! through thy strength can man cast off 

his fear, 
And walk with brow uplifted in glad ecstasy! 
The poets turn again to dreams of poesy. 
As woods astir with warblers feel the summer 

near! 

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Therefore, be thou their queen! and, in their 

mem'ry, thou 
Shalt regnant be forever! May their hands each 

day 
With fresh, sweet-scented flowers bestrew thy 

gladsome way, 
And twine a roseate chaplet round thy glorious 

brow! 



And may their rhythmic music charm all tears 

away! 
Peace and unselfish love press close upon thy 

tread. 
The sun, in smiling benediction o'er thy head 
As standard bearer, seek thy colors to display! 

1900. 



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"LET NO ONE HARM HIM!" 

— fVilliam McKinley 

"TET no one harm him!" gaspingly the words 
1 J Come from the Hps, while the right hand 
upraised 
Pleads for the life of him who seeks his own, 
And saves it from destruction imminent! 



O noble heart! forgetting its own wound, 
While swift the murd'rous bullet speeds its way; 
The nation's head its honor still sustains, 
And wards the blow that would avenge his 
wrong. 



Carve them in stone! Those tender, earnest 

words, 
Set them on high, that North and South may 

read 
Where lynch-law with its tiger-fierceness binds 
Its victim fast, with hideous, mocking shouts 
Stifling the groans of writhing agony. 



AND OTHER VERSES 

Write them in gold, and let our children learn 
In early years to curb the passions' sway, 
To rev'rence law and rev'rence him who wears 
The country's love deep-graven in his soul. 



Send to the anarchist the glorious words; 
Bid him remember, though the ruler fall, 
The nation lives, and on its proudest page 
Inscribes their names who for her glory die, 
But under direst execration marks 
The wretch who, feigning welcome, deals the 

blow 
That sends a throb of anguish round the world. 

September 9, 1901. 



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VASSILI VERESTSCHAGIN 

THOU too hast gone, and in thy going set 
The final seal to what thy life had wrought 
Through strenuous toil of years, in setting forth 
The curdling horrors on the victor's track, 
The mangled forms, the bleaching corpses strewn 
Thick o'er the grain-field, while, 'mid stifled 

groans 
Of the survivors, thine own heart had bled. 
And with a stern resolve had nerved thy hand 
To show the world the deeds of glorious war. 



But thou hast perished with the Admiral 
Loved by his soldiers, and his host of men, 
O, more than artist, man of earnest soul. 
Thy mem'ry cannot perish, may it live 
To plead against the battle's cruel voice 
For peace with her tribunal, ush'ring in 
The golden age of glad humanity! 



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THE APPEAL TO THE CZAR 

TRUSTINGLY we come to thee, 
Little Father, hear our cry, 
'We have nowhere else to go,' 

Grant our prayer, or we must die. 
To the palace we draw near. 

We, thy children, seek thy face, 
Lend, oh! lend a list'ning ear. 

Let us feel thy sov'reign grace. 
With our wives and little ones 

Peacefully we come to thee, 
Not a weapon in our hands 

Save the cross of Calvary. 
Sore our need, but thou canst help. 

Little Father, hear our cry!" 
But — he turns his face away 

And the bullets make reply. 

1905. 



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AN ECHO 

from rev. samuel schulman, d.d., at the 
people's institute 

THOU soul of man, awake, arise 
At summons to a glorious strife, 
Shake off the fetters of thy sleep 
And arm thee for the strenuous life! 



Conquer the beast that strives to stir 
Thy heart's full blood to cruel hate, 

Unseat him from his outworn throne. 
This tyrant of the earlier date! 



Forget his cunning, born of fear 
'Mid lurking dangers of the wild, 

Lift up thine eyes with love and trust 

Thou living soul, thou heav'n's own child! 



Raise not a sluggard's feeble cry 
Against the barriers of fate, 

Let down the bars of Prejudice, 
And open Wisdom's golden gate. 

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Dip deep into the wells of Truth, 
Let its refreshing waters reach 

Thine inmost soul, and bend thine ear 
To catch the lessons it would teach. 



Fan the faint spark that lives in thee 
Till others watch its growing light 

And, in reflecting back its rays. 

Both theirs and thine shall shine more bright; 



Till hearts shall glow with warmer love. 
Each striving for another's good. 

The low and bestial left behind, 
In universal brotherhood. 

January 2, 1905. 



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THE CUP 



" And He took the cup and gave thanks." 
— Matt, xxvi, 27. 



BUT wherefore thanks ? The hour draws 
nigh 
Of keenest agony; 
The Father turns His face away, 
The Lamb of God must die! 



He breaks the bread and blesses it, 
"This is my body!" "eat"; 

How soon the cruel nails will bruise 
Those sacred hands and feet! 



He takes the cup. Come "drink ye all." 
"For many" this "is shed," 

"This is my blood," oh! ne'er before 
Had host such banquet spread! 



Still giving thanks that He may bear 

For us a heavier woe 
Than human thought can e'er conceive, 

His blood will freely flow. 

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Thanks for Thine anguish, dearest Lord, 

In that mysterious hour 
When Thou, the sinless one, must feel 

The curse of sin's fell power! 



Oh! melt our souls with living fire! 

Kindle our tongues to sing 
The glory of our suff'ring Lamb, 

Our Saviour, Priest and King! 



An offering without recall 
Our grateful hearts be given 

To Him Who giveth thanks to die 
That we may live in heaven! 



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THE PASSOVER OR THE PERPETUAL 
FEAST 

DARKNESS in Egypt! Yet no soothing sleep 
To rest the aching hmbs of Jacob's sons, 
That toihng host, six hundred thousand strong; 
Nor thought of sleep, alert and wondering. 
Conning the mystery of Moses' words, 
"Out of his door not one of you shall pass 
Until the morn, lest the destroyer come 
To smite you with th' Egyptians." Shut within 
The blood-stained side-posts and the lintel safe, 
Sandals on feet, well-girt and staff in hand. 
They eat in haste the freshly-slaughtered lamb 
With bitter herbs. 'Tis their first passover. 
While the destroying angel passes by 
The blood-stained lintels, and a bitter cry 
Through all the land, from Pharaoh on his throne 
Down to th' imprisoned captive, rends the air, 
Each household mourning for its first-born slain. 
Nor was this night of wonders e'er forgot 
Through years of wand'rings in the desert land. 
By manna fed, with water from the rock; 
Their bones were scattered through the wilder- 
ness. 
But children's children, in the promised land, 

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With solemn gatherings each new-born year, 
O'er fresh slain lamb and bitter herbs recall 
The wondrous story of that fearful night 
When the destroying angel, passing by 
The blood-stained lintels, with a fatal blow 
Smote the first-born and set the captives free. 



But lo! the feast is consecrate anew! 

That upper chamber in Jerusalem 

Invites the twelve, while Christ, the Lamb of 

God, 
He "slain from the foundation" breaks the bread, 
"Take, eat, this is my body!" and "with thanks" 
The cup, "my blood of the new testament 
For many shed." "I drink of it no more 
Till in God's kingdom I shall drink it new." 



Thus ever is the passover recalled 
Among God's ancient people. But in Christ 
A deeper, holier meaning hath it won, 
And we in sweet communion sit to-day 
And feast upon the broken bread and wine. 
Strengthened anew by His great sacrifice. 

Waits yet another feast in store for us 

In the blest upper mansions ? Shall we drink 

The wine of heavenly vintage as we sit 

With Abraham and Isaac at the board. 

And "the sweet singer of God's ancient fold," 

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The loved disciple and the fervent Paul, 
Where David's Greater Son, the Lamb of God, 
Our Elder Brother, now our risen Lord, 
As loving Shepherd, condescends to guide 
Our willing feet to pastures ever fair ? 

December, 1907. 



184 



AND OTHER VERSES 



FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY 

FAITH, guardian angel of the second birth. 
To doubting pilgrims by the Father given, 
Hov'ring in mid-air beckons from the earth 
And with uplifted finger points to heaven. 



Hope opens vistas to th' enraptured eye 
Radiant in light and crowned with roseate 
flowers, 

Her starting place the hillof Calvary, 

Still moving onward through the circling hours. 



But Charity, the fairest of the train. 

Joins heart to heart by the strong bands of 
love. 

With gentle grace draws tight the golden chain 
And links us to the bright and blest above. 



She glistened in the Saviour's pitying eye 
When swiftly to our sore distress He flew, 

Breathed from His lips in death's dread agony, 
"Father, forgive, they know not what they do." 

185 



TARRY WITH ME 



THE LOVED OF YORE 

SLOW lingering in the border land, 
The dear ones gone before, 
How will it seem to cross the strand, 
And meet the loved of yore ? 



So far beyond us have they passed, 
Rich in the heav'nly lore, 

Shall we as little children seem 
Left at the schoolroom door? 



Nay! on those sacred heights there blooms 

Humility's sweet flower, 
And tender love and sympathy 

Form many a circling bower. 



And ever, as we higher climb 

With hesitating feet. 
Their smile, a cheering stimulus, 

Our upward glance will greet. 

1909. 



flOV 17 



I copy '^'^' '^'^ ^■'^^ D^y. 

MOV 18 1009 



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